


Anchor Me

by Ooshka



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-08-11 03:41:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 32,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7874812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ooshka/pseuds/Ooshka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding yourself competing in a house renovation reality show when you can’t even tell a tell a false ceiling from a real one is a pretty dumb thing to do, and doing it with a guy you barely know is probably even worse.  But that’s where Emma has ended up and, despite the fact she prides herself on avoiding doing dumb things at all cost, she’s going to get it done, get her money and get out before anything too disastrous happens.  </p>
<p>Killian Jones is coming off a string of disasters that has cost him his career and left him with an injury there’s no hiding now.  All he wants is a little distraction, and the woman who wants him to play make-believe for some ridiculous TV show looks like she’ll fulfil that need perfectly.  He’s just not sure he can be what she wants, and he’s even less sure if he should try.</p>
<p>And now they’re here, in Storybrooke, Maine, competing for a house they don’t really want in a competition they don’t really understand.  Understanding each other is another matter altogether, and if they can do that, then maybe they’ll both find what they’ve been looking for all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry into the CS Big Bang (Little Bang in this case) over on Tumblr. I'm expecting it to be about three parts in total, but that's always a little up in the air.
> 
> Big thanks to my beta kliomuse, and pre-reader and cheerleader chocolatecrackle, for both being awesome :D
> 
> The title comes from the song of the same name by The Muttonbirds.

 

In retrospect Emma would decide that her first mistake was letting Mary Margaret look after Henry.  It had seemed like a good move at the time.  Her usual babysitter Ashley, a long-limbed, future Phys Ed teacher, had let her down again and Mary Margaret, the wife of a guy she knew from work, had stepped in.

To be honest Emma had been half-expecting Ashley to flake out ever since she got her new boyfriend, and, more than once, she’d had to bite her tongue so she didn’t give Ashley the speech about where hot and heavy teenage romances led.  Or showed off her own stretch marks just to ram the point home.

What she had done was entrust the care of her son to an  _ actual _ teacher and assume everything would be fine from there.  She just hadn’t factored in Mary Margaret’s television viewing habits and what they would mean.

“Mom!  Mom!  It’s the big reveal!” became the standard greeting from Henry whenever she called to pick him up from David and Mary Margaret’s.  Who would have thought her ten year old son would have been so enraptured by a program about painting ceilings and ripping out walls?

“That’s cool.  So what’d they do this week?”  Emma tried to show an interest, but really, it was all over her head.  Basically she was happy if she had four walls, carpet, and a working shower.  Paint colours had never really factored as a thing she wanted to contemplate.

“Oh well, the Red team did their living space, it’s all in one now they’ve taken out the wall…” Mary Margaret answered.

“But the Green and Blue teams did bathrooms so it’s really up in the air.  The tiling in the Green house is immaculate though,” Henry added and Emma wasn’t sure whether to be more concerned with the fact Henry knew the word immaculate or his new-found interest in tiling.

“I think the Blue bathroom has the edge.  It’s a wet room.  With a double shower head.  And they’ve extended the window so you can look out from the bath,” Mary Margaret added.

Emma peered at the TV screen they were both so focused on.  As far as she could see all it showed was a couple busy arguing about what height a towel rail should be fixed onto a wall.  Didn’t seem much like quality viewing as far as she was concerned.

And it wasn’t like she had the time to take in episodes of  _ Our New Home _ anyway.  Not when she was working full time as an administrator for the Boston police department and trying to fit in a few classes when she could, too.  One day, sometime in the hopefully not too distant future, she wanted to be a police officer herself.  But that required training, and time off from working and, well, more money than she had at the moment when she was just managing to keep Henry and herself in a small apartment.

Honestly, worrying about a towel rail would seem like a luxury some days.

“You know, if I had the chance, I might be tempted to go on a show like this,” Mary Margaret said, wistfully.

“What?  Why?”  Emma couldn’t understand that desire, although there was one thing that made her curious.  “What do you win?”

“The public votes for the winner and they get to keep their house,” Henry said excitedly.  “So they have to move to whichever place they’re holding the competition in.”

That didn’t really appeal to Emma.  Sure a free house was a free house, but moving out of Boston?  Not in her plan.

“But the others get to keep whatever extra the house makes at auction, over and above the work they put in.  It’s all on the capital gain,” Mary Margaret added.

“So, like, actual cash?” Emma asked.

“Yeah.  But the house’d be better.  After you spent all that time on it, it’d be sad to give it up.  Right, Mom?”

Henry clearly wanted to her to agree with him, but all Emma managed was a less than enthusiastic “Uh-huh.”  Still, it was all pie in the sky, really.  Not like she was ever going on something like this.  She’d be a disaster and, anyway, this show wanted couples they could stuff into dream homes like the Barbies and Kens she’d never had to play with as a little girl in the foster system.  They definitely didn’t want single mothers who couldn’t tell a sconce from a cornice.

“If you go on it, can we come help when it’s friends week?” Henry asked Mary Margaret.

“Oh.  Sure.  You’d be great at painting, Henry.”  Henry beamed but Emma thought that was pretty unlikely, too.  Mary Margaret’s husband David loved his job in the Boston PD and she couldn’t see him shifting to some podunk small town just because his wife wanted to test her skills with a paintbrush.

It was a nice dream but that was all it was.

“Come on, Henry.  Let’s get home, OK?”

The show came to the end of its run, and, after a flurry of excitement during the finale, Henry and Mary Margaret seemed to forget about it.  Ashley didn’t resurface, but Mary Margaret was happy to keep on as back up babysitter even if it did mean that Henry watched far too much MasterChef and started trying to critique Emma’s meals.  It was only after she threatened to go on strike that Henry stopped awarding her points for her presentation.

Emma completely forgot about that stupid home renovation show.  But, it turned out, Mary Margaret hadn’t.  Only by the time they were asking for people to nominate themselves for the next season, she was three months into her first pregnancy.

Of course she wasn’t above lamenting the fact she couldn’t sign up, and so Emma found herself seated at a table in the little bar she sometimes went to after work with David and some of the other guys, watching Mary Margaret sip her lemonade and complain about her lot in life.  “You know, it would be so good to just know that you were set up for life.  Especially now.”

“Yep.  Sure would.”  Emma would jump at the chance to just be handed stuff, money especially.  But having to renovate a house for it did not appeal.

“Maybe you should do it?” Mary Margaret said, as though she’d been completely ignoring Emma’s internal train of thought.

“What?  Me?  No, I’d be crap at it.  Plus I don’t have anyone.  It’s a couples thing.  They only want people who come as part of a pair.”  Sometimes Emma felt like the whole world thought the same way.  “I don’t know where I’d just find some random guy who’s desperate to pick paint colours with me.”

“Does someone need a guy?”  Emma looked up to see that Tink, who ran the bar and usually stayed safely behind it, had come over under the guise of collecting Emma’s empty beer bottle and decided to catch up on the part of the conversation she’d missed.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret said, emphatically, and for a moment Emma was afraid she’d stopped talking about the TV show.  “I’m telling her she should try to get on that show, you know,  _ Our New Home _ ?  But she says she can’t do it alone.”

“Right.”  Tink turned and called back over her shoulder.  “Oi!  Liam, you know of any random blokes lying around?”

At the sound of his name Tink’s husband, Liam, popped his head up from where he was doing God knows what under the bar and looked thoughtful.  “I’m willing to sell Killian for 50p.”

Tink screwed up her nose.  “Really?  I would have thought he’s worth at least £2.50.  Oh well, fair enough.”  She turned back to the table.  “Well, there’s your best offer, Emma.”

“I…OK.”  Emma was struggling to process what was going on.  First there were the accents of the people involved.  Liam was British, which was bad enough, but his wife was Australian, which was worse.  Plus they were talking about a currency which meant absolutely zero to Emma.  “So, pounds, huh?  You use that in Australia?”

Tink frowned at her.  “You know I’m from New Zealand, right?”

“Oh, yeah…yeah…”  Emma was sure she had known that, at some time.  Mary Margaret had other things on her mind.

“So, this Killian, do you really think he’d be interested?” she asked Tink, who shrugged in response.

“Dunno.  Killian is Liam’s brother and he’s here at the moment, but he’s not in the best space…” she trailed off and looked over her shoulder, almost as though she was afraid of being caught out.  Then she sat down on the chair between Emma and Mary Margaret.  “I think Liam just wants to get him out and doing stuff again.”

“He’s staying with you?” Mary Margaret asked, far more interested in Liam’s brother than Emma could bring herself to be.  It was all a waste of time, really, because she wasn’t even going to apply for the show let alone rope this guy into doing it with her.

But, given they’d spent the previous five minutes discussing Mary Margaret’s constant need to retch and sudden inability to stand the smell of cooked chicken, she’d go with this topic of conversation.  For now.

“Yeah…” Tink said.  “He’s just here for a bit, after the accident.  Trying to figure out what to do next.”

“Accident?” Mary Margaret prompted.

Emma wondered how long this conversation might possibly go on for.  She didn’t have the excuse of getting home to Henry: he was sleeping over at his friend Avery’s house.  But she did wonder if David needed someone else to play pool against and she craned her neck to see what was happening by the pool table in the corner.  She couldn’t catch David’s eye, unfortunately, and Tink started speaking so just getting up and leaving might have been considered rude.

“Yeah.  That’s why he’s here, really.  I mean he’s had all the therapy and stuff, but he’s just kinda hanging out with us now.”

Just then, Liam appeared at the table.  “Are you having a rest there, Tink?”

“Yeah…nah. Let me tell you, being a trophy wife is exhausting.  And now, on top of everything else, I’m trying to sell Killian for you.”

“I’m not sure he’s that marketable,” Liam said, dryly.

“Well…just tell us and we’ll decide,” Mary Margaret said, looking far too excited by the prospect of checking out a potential guy for Emma.  Someone she could use for the purpose of appearing on a TV show dedicated to making people discover tiling is a job for the professionals, anyway.

Or, at least, that’s what Emma hoped.  Because she was barely interested in doing that, and she certainly wasn’t interested in dating any weird brother in law Tink had to offer her.

“He is…was…quite good at what he did,” Tink argued.  “He sails. Competitively,” she added, as though that was supposed to mean something special.  “And he was doing really well, working with some of the European syndicates.”

“Killian was hoping to one day get a place in one of the larger teams.  Like Oracle,” Liam added.

“Or, you know, a real team that isn’t a bunch of cheating arses, like, say, Team New Zealand.”  Tink continued, giving her husband a pointed look, but he just sighed.

“You have to get over that.  It was 2013.”

“Never!  Anyway, the accident’s put paid to all of that.  He lost a couple of fingers off his left hand and can’t manage being on board the boats anymore.  Not doing what he used to anyway.  So he’s, you know, yours if you want him.”  Tink smiled broadly, clearly thinking the bargain was about to be struck.

“Oh, um…well it’s just an idea.  A really stupid idea that I’m never going to go through with.”  Emma hoped she looked a little apologetic and not just bewildered like she felt.

Tink looked nonplussed.  “Well, if you’re sure.  I mean, I’m certain he’d love to just meet you…”

“30p and a Mars Bar, and that’s my final offer!” Liam interjected.

Emma shook her head.  “Nope.  No.  It would be silly to even, like, try and do it.  No, I’ll just keep on working and hope to win the lottery or something.”

Liam shrugged and left the table.  Tink looked a little more disappointed, but didn’t add anything to her sales pitch.  Instead she went to answer Liam’s call of “Where the bloody hell did that invoice end up?” 

Mary Margaret looked over at Emma.  “I still think you should consider it.  I mean, I know it’s a long-shot, but it’s something, right?”

Emma stayed silent on that front because it was nothing, at least, it was nothing she should even contemplate.  Roping a guy she didn’t know and had never even met into applying to some TV show with her just so she could win some money, what kind of person even did that?

She made the mistake of posing that question to Henry when she picked him up from Avery’s house the next day.  Not because she’d been mulling it over all night but because, well, clearly Mary Margaret was suffering from a touch of the baby brain.

“I think it’d be awesome, Mom!” was not the response she’d wanted.  Serves her right for not respecting parental boundaries, but, even so, she’d gone in this far she wasn’t about to turn back now.

“Yeah, sure the money’d be useful.  And I’m pretty certain a renovation isn’t that big of a deal, really.  They make it look worse than it is on TV because the drama keeps people watching.  But I’d have to pretend that some guy is my boyfriend, or whatever, and that’s just crazy!”

Henry didn’t look as shocked as she expected.  “Mom, people have done worse.  And it would make a great story to tell later on.”

“Seriously?  The story of how I got murdered in a small town by a strange guy with a power drill, maybe.  But not something that I’d want actual people to know about.”

“Well, do what you want.  But I think it’d be cool.  And unless you try, you’ll never know if you could have done it.”

Henry was right.  Well, sort of right.  What ifs were terrible things and Emma’s past was littered with them already.  What if her parents hadn’t left her to the whims of the foster system for her entire childhood?  What if she hadn’t hooked up with Henry’s father Neal and ended up with a baby and a juvenile record?  What if she was able to somehow make things better, make things right, get herself and Henry the happy ending they both deserved?

That last one was still up in the air of course.  Maybe she could do it on her own.  Maybe she wouldn’t have to appear on some stupid TV show pretending to be something she wasn’t.

But the thought she couldn’t shake was that maybe she would.

And that was how, two days later, she found herself marching back to the  _ Anchor and Hope _ clutching a Mars Bar and hoping that her plan wasn’t going to be scuttled before she’d even had a chance to float it.

* * *

Killian often felt there should be more perks to having a brother who owned a pub.  Sure, the access to free booze was nice, although Liam did tend to keep a rather sharp eye on how often Killian was going near the top shelf.  But then you got nights like this where a request to just keep an eye on the bar for Liam while it was quiet had turned into a good forty-five minutes spent standing here, watching some stupid baseball game on the TV while the same four patrons nursed the same four beers he’d served them nearly an hour ago.

He was incredibly bored, and there wasn’t even the possibility of drinking away his boredom because, supposedly, he’s the one in charge here.  It might have been easier if he’d had a valid reason for refusing to help out in the first place, but he didn’t and he had no appetite to see another pitying look cross his brother’s face when Killian admitted that he wasn’t feeling up to hanging around a bunch of strangers.

Although you can hardly call four people a bunch.  

So when he heard the door open and watched the blonde woman walk in just as he felt the breeze from outside hit his cheeks, he was immediately glad of the distraction.  Certainly she seemed infinitely more appealing than the two guys from the warehouse sitting and sweating in the corner, or the couple who kept taking turns to visit the bathroom and no doubt text their mates to come and rescue them from the date from hell.

No, this woman was something else altogether.  All blonde hair and shiny leather jacket and the slightest hint of nervousness as she looked around which made Killian think that she was waiting for some guy from Tinder to stroll in wearing a cap on backwards, or whatever nonsense people did to make themselves recognisable to a prospective hook-up.  She kept fiddling with something in her hand and that was just a dead giveaway that there was no chance she’d have any interest in chatting to a bored bartender.

It would be just his luck, after all.

He had been having a run of bad luck since...well, since it all went to shit really.  Since the accident, the stupid, pointless accident that was really just a moment of inattention caused, no doubt, by his mind being elsewhere at the time.  He didn’t want to blame Milah for any of it; not for being sick of the lifestyle, not for wanting something better than living out of a suitcase in Barcelona or San Diego or Auckland or anywhere else Killian ended up.  Not for deciding that the time was right to settle down and find someone else, someone stable and grounded and just plain there.  

But all the same, he was certain that knowing Milah wouldn’t be there when he came off the water that day hadn’t helped him.  It was just a slip of the rigging, and a grab and a twist that should have got his hand free and didn’t.  And now, here he was.  Stuck with Liam and Tink until he could figure out what on earth he could do next.

Liam, in the moments when his brotherly concern spilled over, had suggested that Killian was drifting, but he felt anything but adrift.  He felt anchored, but not in the good way.  More in the way that he couldn’t break free of a darkness that threatened to swamp him at any moment.  A darkness that mostly seemed to exist inside his own mind.

And that felt incredibly bloody shitty.

So any distraction was a welcome one.  And the blonde, well she was distracting in a decidedly good way.  Killian watched her scan the pub, probably looking for her date, and then head purposefully towards the bar.  He made a little bet with himself that she’d order wine, red, because this was a date, but that secretly she was probably a beer drinker. 

He kept his left hand hidden beneath the bar but that was, well that was just because he couldn’t lean all over it, could he?  What would Liam think if he turned up and found Killian just draped across the bar like some slack-arsed kid buggering up their first job behind a McDonald’s counter?

No, he had a little more pride than that.  So he’d stand attentively and wait for her come just a bit closer...closer.   “So, what can I get you this evening?”

The woman frowned at him.  Killian didn’t take it too personally, though.  She’d been frowning since she walked in the door, probably because she’d been wondering where the arsehole who’d stood her up had gone.

He hoped that, after she realised what had happened, she’d want to drown her sorrows, and have no choice but to speak to him.  He’d be sympathetic, of course, and she’d end up hanging around to keep him company.  

And chatting to this gorgeous creature, with her green eyes and flushed cheeks would be a bloody perfect way to enliven a fantastically boring evening.  

But then she said something that threw him completely.  “So, uh, is Liam around?”

Maybe she was a past customer and somehow knew that Liam was the publican, but Killian thought it was odd he’d never seen her before, odd his brother hadn’t mentioned her and completely odd that she was acting so shifty, looking towards the door to the back of the pub and fingering whatever she had in her hand.

“He’s out for a bit.  With his wife, they had a few things to catch up on.  So can I get you something, love, or do you want me to give him a message?”

“So Tink’s not here either.  Huh.”  

Killian felt some relief that she wasn’t Liam’s bit on the side; not that he really thought his brother capable of such things.  But this woman was just giving him a very strange feeling.  And she still hadn’t cleared up the matter of exactly why she was there.

“Nope, but you can trust me with your secrets.  I’m very trustworthy.”  

He fixed her with a broad smile, but it got a less than enthusiastic response.  “Yeah, yeah.  I’m sure you are.  It’s in the bartender job description, right?”

Killian tried not to be stung by her dismissal.  “Actually, I’m just filling in.”  

Her forehead crinkled again.  “Oh.  Well, in that case.  Maybe I’ll leave it.” 

She started to turn away and Killian felt a sudden rush of panic.  The bar was still dead and he just needed something,  _ anything _ , give him something to focus on for a bit.  This woman was the only thing he’d found interesting in a long time and he was reluctant to lose that feeling so soon.

He leaned over the bar a little, forgetting his earlier notions of propriety, and tried to get her attention.  “Hey, but, uh...you want a drink anyway?  On the house?”

She turned back and fixed him with a long, cool stare.  “OK.  But only if you won’t lose your job or anything.  I don’t want Liam kicking your ass out because you bought me a beer.”

“I’d like to see him try,” Killian replied with a shrug, although really he was concentrating on how fast he could move his hands so she wouldn’t notice his injury as he pulled their pints.  “So what’s your name anyway, love?”

“Well it’s definitely not love,” she replied and, for a moment, Killian thought that was all he was going to get out of her.  She gave him an appraising look and then finally said.  “Emma.  Emma Swan.”

It suited her, and he was about to say something utterly cheesy to that effect when he pushed over her beer and she finally put what it was she’d been holding on the top of the bar.  He might have wondered why someone would bring a bloody chocolate bar into a pub and then hold it for so long, if he hadn’t known exactly why this woman was clutching a Mars Bar.

Bloody Liam.

“Did my brother try to sell me to you?”

Emma Swan looked annoyed and guilty all at the same time.  “Wait.  You’re Killian?”

“Yes I am.  And that bloody Mars Bar is a dead giveaway as to what Liam’s been doing behind my back.  He’s done it before, you know.  When I was a baby he tried to swap me for a bag of prawn cocktail crisps, and then later on, when Lily Kaplan down the road needed an extra body for her interminable tea parties the price was always the same; a Mars Bar.  They’re his bloody favourite.”

“Oh.  Well, uh…”  Emma looked around as though she was trying to come up with an reason as to why she wasn’t part of Liam’s human trafficking ring, when the man who most needed the bollocking came walking through the door from the back of the pub.

“Oi, Liam!  Forget to mention something, did you?” Killian held up the Mars Bar.

“Ah,” Liam looked far guiltier than even Emma had.  Tink, however, was utterly shameless.  

“Oh, you’ve met Emma then!” she said, looking between the two of them. “That’s nice.”

“No, it’s not nice.  Not when you’re just being sold off for chocolate.”  Killian lobbed the Mars Bar at Liam’s head but the bugger caught it and just looked pleased with himself because now he had what he’d wanted all along.

“Sugar will kill you,” Tink informed her husband.

“Not if I do it first,” Killian warned, while Liam just smirked.

It was at this point that Killian realised that everyone had been all but ignoring Emma who, when he turned to face her again, looked like she wanted to flee the pub and not look back.

“Of course I don’t blame you, love,” he assured her.  “I know exactly who came up with this plan and I think it’s the fact that he hasn’t yet learned that you can’t sell another person that’s the most disappointing.”

Liam shook his head.  “It’s hardly a sale.  I mean, Lily Kaplan always brought you back again.  It’s more a short-term rental situation.”

It still didn’t sound any better to Killian and, all joking aside, he was starting to wonder if this had all been some kind of set-up designed to get him to ask this woman out on a date.  And he might have, but now it looked like the whole thing was a write-off because she was watching them all, wide-eyed and slightly shocked, and he could only imagine that a date was the last thing on her mind.

He really didn’t want her to leave yet.  Not when he hadn’t had the chance to figure out anything about her.  Quite why that felt so important when he no longer needed distraction from the empty pub, Killian didn’t even want to question.

“So what exactly is it that you were renting me for?” he asked Emma.

“Well, see.  Here’s the thing.  I just need a...a pretend boyfriend.”

“Right.  Yes.  Of course.”  

It was too much to hope for that this would be a normal set-up.  Nothing was going to be normal now, of course.  Not when he was missing half his left hand.  And this smacked of one of Tink’s more ridiculous notions, based on some half-baked romantic comedy she’d no doubt watched and thought she could replicate.  There was no way in hell he’d be willing to be pulled into that kind of bloody nonsense.  He wasn’t cut out to be anyone’s hero; most days he was doing a bad enough job of just trying to keep his own head above water.

But he’d been stupid enough to hope that something good might be coming his way,  and that just made him feel, well, stupid all over.

“Sorry.  I can’t help, love.”  

Killian didn’t wait around to see Emma’s reaction to that, just walked out the back of the bar and upstairs to the little flat Liam and Tink called home.  After flopping on the sofa in the living room that had also been doubling as his own bed for the past couple of months, he switched on the TV and started flicking through the channels.

It was ridiculous.  Utterly, utterly stupid.  He knew that Liam, and Tink, had probably meant well and were trying to help out this woman whom neither of them had ever mentioned before and was quite possibly a stranger off the street.  And, God knows, why should he feel like they should have thought about his feelings before Emma’s?

Just plain stupid of him, really.  

After a half hour or so Liam arrived and plonked himself down on the sofa next to Killian.  He held out the Mars Bar.  

"Want half?"

"No, thank-you very much."

Liam sighed and tore open the wrapper.  "You know, I think you were a bit hasty before."

"Oh, really? I'm sorry, did my desire not to be paraded around her best friend's wedding or aunt's funeral seem a little rash to you?  Well I am deeply sorry that my stupidity got in the way of you and and Tink winning publican match-makers of the year.  Or maybe you were just in it for the chocolate, you've scoffed it all down bloody quick enough.  Too bad if I've changed my mind about wanting some."

Killian expected that Liam might suggest he'd be better off changing his mind about Emma rather than the Mars Bar, but instead he sighed and threw the screwed up wrapper on the coffee table.

"Little brother, the last thing I think you are is stupid."

"Younger brother," Killian grumbled.  "And it's plainly bloody obvious that you do, always have. It's why you used to spend all that time giving me away to Lily, after all."

"You really think that's why I did it?" Liam sounded genuinely surprised.  “You used to want to go.  Sure, I got the odd Mars Bar but you got the whole spread; Jaffa Cakes and Wagon Wheels as far as the eye could see. Plus Lily's undivided attention. You bloody loved all the fuss."

"I did?"

Liam looked at him like he was a little slow.  "Of course you did."

"Hmpf." Killian put his feet on the coffee table and looked steadfastly straight ahead.

It was a sobering thought to realise that maybe his version of events wasn’t the true one.  Doubting himself wasn't a new feeling, but not about something as fundamental as this; it had been a known fact for as long as he could remember that Liam had spent their childhoods trying to ditch him with the girl down the road.

Now it turned out that Killian had it all wrong.  Perhaps he'd been wrong to dismiss Emma as well.  

But that ship had sailed and now he'd never know.  He'd have to live with that decision like he'd been living with so many others. 

Mostly he just tried to push it out of his mind in the days that followed.  Emma didn’t come into the pub; she clearly wasn’t a regular.  And that was fine because he doubted she wanted his apology anyway.  Although if they were handing out apologies, he did feel that Liam Jones should first in line.

But he couldn’t help but wonder exactly what it was she’d wanted with him.  It intrigued him in a way he hadn’t been intrigued since...well, since he discovered most conversations began and ended with the sad tale of how he lost two fingers in a sailing accident on board a racing yacht.  Dealing with the less than pleasant side of life made people uncomfortable, and uncomfortable didn’t engender warm feelings and a desire to prolong the encounter.

And that was even before he got to the part about currently being 33, unemployed and sleeping on his brother’s sofa.

While he would hardly have termed himself a damsel in distress, he hadn’t missed the part where Emma Swan, brandishing a chocolate bar, had turned up at his door to rescue him from the monotony of feeling bloody sorry for himself.

The worst part was that Liam and Tink felt sorry for him too.  Not just because of Milah and the accident and the shit luck he’d had since then.  No, they clearly felt sorry for him because he couldn’t even manage not to be an arse to a perfectly nice, and somewhat gorgeous, woman who wanted an escort to some boring event.

He could see it in the looks they kept giving him over breakfast when they asked what his plans for the day were, or when they checked if he was free for a spot of unpaid bartending or just when they thought he wasn’t looking and they huddled in the corner of the kitchen drinking tea and no doubt thanking their lucky stars they’d found each other.

So really, he’d all but given up on Emma Swan when she marched back into the pub about a week later and put something on the bar in front of him.  “These are to say I’m sorry.  So...I’m sorry.”

He looked at the bag.  “Minstrels?”

“Liam said that’s your favourite candy.”

“Where the bloody hell did you find Minstrels?”

“I had to track them down.  It took a few tries to find a store that stocked them, but there’s this place in Peabody that sells stuff from England.”  She gave a small smile and looked pleased with herself.

“Well, apology accepted then, love.”  Killian opened the bag and held it out.  “Want one?”

“You want to share your apology candy?  OK, fine.”  Emma looked like she’d been offered a poisoned apple, but she reached in and took out one of the chocolates and popped it in her mouth.

Killian tried not to stare too openly at her way Emma’s lips moved as she did so.  She really was attractive.

“They’re good,” she said, frowning, as though that wasn’t what she expected at all.

“Of course they are.  I have excellent taste.”

Emma shrugged, and he adopted a slightly offended look which made her smile.  This was good, they were getting along and maybe it would all be all right.  Of course that was the point when his mind turned rogue on him and decided self-sabotage was the best way to go.  

“It makes up for this.”  He held up his left hand, letting Emma get a good look at the missing fingers and mangled scars he’d been trying to hide up until now.

To her credit Emma didn’t shrink back from the sight, nor did she fall into the trap of being overly sympathetic and interested in the gory details.  

“Those are some pretty major war wounds, huh?”

“You should have seen the other guy.”  He felt a little embarrassed now; it was a ridiculous thing to do to this woman, testing her to see how she’d react.

He pulled his hand away and ate another Minstrel out of the bag.  She stayed put, which was encouraging.  He hadn’t scared her off so far.

“So you wanna hear my proposal then?” she asked, after squaring her shoulders and suddenly looking a little more business-like.

“Only if it’s indecent, love.”    

“Seriously?”  

Emma sighed and rolled her eyes and Killian kept the smirk plastered on his face although even he’d winced a little at the terrible line he’d given her.  It was an old habit, and one that was hard to break.  Somehow it made things a little easier if he was just playing a role, just as much as he did presiding over Lily Kaplan’s tea-table and saying the lines she fed him along with slices of Battenburg cake.  It mattered less if someone rejected this version of himself, because it wasn’t the real one.

Or, at least, he used to think that.  Now, he wasn’t so sure.  And he definitely wasn’t certain he’d take any rejection by Emma Swan particularly well at all.

“Sorry, love.  Can’t blame a man for trying.”  

Emma looked like she could, quite happily, blame him for a lot of things, but she put her hands on the bar on front of her and started again.

“So…” she said, slowly, as though she was putting off breaking some painful news.  “This good taste thing you mentioned, does it extend as far as knowing which tiles go with which paint colours?”

* * *

Emma had never met anyone quite like Killian Jones.  He could go from a blatant, almost aggressive, flirtatiousness to moody introspection in the space of about three seconds and occasionally it gave Emma whiplash.  She liked to think that she was good at understanding people, almost as good as she was as tracking down weird British candy, but Killian was something she hadn’t really encountered before.

You didn’t have to be able to tell when someone was lying to see that most of what Killian presented to the world was a front; all style and no substance with the occasional appalling innuendo thrown in to boot.  The problem wasn’t that she knew all of this.  The problem was that she cared why he couldn’t just be himself around her.

It really weirded her out.

But, strangely, Killian himself didn’t.  At least not enough to put her off the whole idea anyway.  Once she’d explained it to him in the pub he’d been receptive to the idea, if a little perplexed at the whole thing.  

“So, you want us to pretend to be in a relationship and desperate to move to some dead-end small town, so that we won’t win and we’ll get the money we could have earned just labouring on someone else’s renovation?”

“Well, it’s more money than that.  Hopefully.  But, I guess...yeah, I do.”

“That’s certainly an interesting proposal.”  He’d looked almost as though he was going to turn her down, again, but he hadn’t, and Emma, slightly elated at having overcome this initial hurdle had invited him over to her place to go over the application process.

Emma hadn’t really thought it through beforehand, but this would, of course, mean she’d have to introduce Killian to Henry.  Henry himself had been far too excited about the whole thing for her liking, and she was tempted to banish him from the scene but it was too late and Killian arrived at the door and Henry opened it before she could stop him and she never did get the chance to actually let her prospective pretend-partner know she had a 10 year-old-son before they came face to face.

She was glad when Killian seemed to take it in his stride, although not thrilled with having to answer Killian’s questions when Henry was out of the room.  “I think,” he began.  “That I understand your desire to do this a little better now.”

“Really?”  Emma hoped this wasn’t one of those lines that ended with ‘ _ any chance to get close to me, eh?’ _ which left her rolling her eyes.

She wasn’t too far from the mark.  “Well, you’re somewhat of an open book, love.”  Killian raised one eyebrow and waited for her response.

“Phfft.”  Emma didn’t know quite how she felt about that.  On the one hand it just smacked of being another pick-up line, but on the other…

Was he really that interested in her?  It was almost nice to think that, maybe, he was.  But that just made her uncomfortable in a way his attempts at flirtation didn’t.

“So, uh, what’s in this book then?” Emma asked, when she realised that her own thoughts were a confusing muddle and there’d been silence between them for just a moment longer than was comfortable.

“Well,” he said, sounding serious which made Emma feel a little apprehensive about what was to come.  “I can see, now, why you’d want to head off and slog away on some house for six weeks.  I mean, Henry’s quite into it, isn’t he?  He tried to engage me in a conversation about hardwood floors earlier, thinking I knew about wood because I knew about yachts.  I had to break it to him that there’s been some marvellous developments in the last hundred years or so and everything’s fibreglass these days…”  Killian paused, and realised that Emma was frowning at him, not really certain what all this had to do with her.

“So I just wanted to say that I see why it’s so important to you to find a home...because it’s not just you, is it?  It’s Henry you’re doing it for.”

Emma nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak.

“But what I don’t understand,” Killian continued.  “Is why me?  Why wouldn’t the lad’s father be willing to sub back in long enough to do this with you?  Doesn’t he want to be on the telly?”

“Oh.”  Emma felt like she’d been punched in the stomach.  “It’s just...he’s not around...now.  Ever, really.  Henry doesn’t know him.”

“Right.  Yes, I see.”  Killian sounded a little embarrassed, but Emma was far too gone with her own emotions to offer him any way out of that hole.  What she’d told him, that covered the bare minimum really.

She certainly wasn’t going to own up to the fact that she’d been young and stupid and so desperate for someone to love her that she’d believed everything Neal had told her.  That she’d assumed that ‘ _ I’ll be back after I off-load these watches’ _ was a promise he really meant to keep.  That ‘ _ I’m sorry I have to leave for a while’ _ was the actual truth.

And the worst part was that it was years later, years and years and long after Henry was born when she realised that all hope of tracking him down was lost because Neal Cassidy was just a name he’d picked out of a fucking book.

So, no.  Henry’s father wasn’t going to come to their aid like some white knight on a horse anytime  soon.  But Emma was here, and Emma was going to win some goddamn money on this stupid show and give Henry a better life, if it was the last thing she did.

Even if it meant putting up with Killian Jones in the process.

They spent over an hour sitting side by side in front of her laptop, filling in the application forms.  It was a little mortifying having Killian looking over her shoulder as she filled in her height and weight, but it was nothing compared to how quiet and still he got when they reached the section about health problems.

She watched him in profile as he pressed his teeth into his bottom lip and held his hands far away from the keyboard.  It crossed her mind to try to offer some comfort, but it wasn’t really her strong suit.  Apart from Henry, she’d never been the nurturing sort.

In the end she settled for what she might do for Henry anyway, and passed him the open package of cookies sitting on the table.  Maybe it was better between them when they just...didn’t talk.

But the silence could only last for so long and the application required a short video which meant not just sitting close together on the couch, but actually trying to look like they were...well, in love.  

Easier said than done, and not really helped at all by Henry, who’d been put in charge of recording them on Emma’s phone, discovering his inner Spielberg and admonishing them to “Sit closer, and try to like, you know, look like those couples on TV that want to do the stuff I’m not allowed to watch.”

“That’s just...not a subject we’re going near, Henry,” Emma said, wondering when on earth he’d started being interested in things like that.  

Henry frowned, which made Killian snigger.  “What?” Emma demanded, feeling a little picked on, and more than a little worried that Killian was about to bust out with something that was really inappropriate in front of Henry.

“Just...he looks an awful lot like you when he’s annoyed, love.”

“No I don’t,” Henry said.  “Now, just move closer so I can fit you both on the screen.”

Emma gave up and did as she’d been asked, shifting along the couch so her hip bumped Killian’s.  He turned to her and started pushing her hair back over her shoulder.  “Need to look your best there, Swan,” he said, cheerfully.

Emma wasn’t entirely certain whether he was just taking the opportunity to cop a feel or not.  Even worse, she wasn’t even sure that she didn’t want him to.  Her mind was wandering and she tried to just clear her head, but Killian was too close and she could smell his aftershave and feel the barest brush of his arm against hers and her chest suddenly felt a few sizes too small.

Was her heartbeat always that fast?

And then, thankfully, Henry told them to look at him instead and she remembered that they were far from alone in the room.

The video they made, outlining all the reasons they supposedly wanted to move to a new town for a fresh start in their own home was excruciating.  Emma stopped and started multiple times as she lost her train of thought.  Afraid of laying it on too thick she tried to keep details to the bare minimum, only to be informed by Henry that she was hopeless and they were never going to pick her if she couldn’t even sound excited about the whole thing.

So she tried again, and hoped she did better.

But when it was Killian’s turn it was a completely different story.  He was charming, and effusive and managed to sound as though this was the thing he wanted most in the world; not just a house, but a home and a life with her.  For about 30 seconds Emma found herself being sucked into it, and almost believing him.

That was ridiculous though, and she ended up flustered and embarrassed, almost pushing Killian out the door once Henry declared they were finished.

It wasn’t until later, when she watched the video over again that she realised that all the way through the part where Killian was speaking she was just...staring at him, like some kind of lovesick high-schooler, left slack-jawed and drooling by sitting next to the quarterback in chemistry class.

But she hadn’t wanted to be that girl in high school, and she definitely didn’t want to be her now.

She was better than  _ that _ .

Wasn’t she?

After the application was submitted, she didn’t see Killian again for a couple of weeks.  All they could do was wait for the outcome.  Contacting him for no concrete reason would have felt a little redundant.

There may have been a text from him, asking how she was but Emma knew that she received a lot of texts and occasionally one got lost or forgotten in the shuffle.

She just hoped that she’d been as good at lying to the people making the TV show as she sometimes was to herself.  Not about Killian.  Emma knew exactly where things stood with Killian, and that’s on a purely professional - assuming you could count swindling TV companies as a profession? - basis.

But sometimes she allowed herself to believe that there was still someone out there who wanted her; an utterly ridiculous thought that left her a little embarrassed.  Emma prided herself on being clear-sighted to the point of absolutely brutal about most things.  For example, she had no qualms about labelling what they were doing with the TV show as something less than honest, after all.  She knew what she was, knew what she was doing and knew what she wanted.

Or, at least, she had done.  Until everything got a bit mixed up in her mind and it was so much better if she just stayed away from Killian for a little while.

It didn’t last though.  They were called to do an in-person interview with a producer who’d flown in from...Emma wasn’t certain where.  But when she gave Killian the details of the hotel where the meeting was taking place, she didn’t suggest they travel there together even though that would have kept up the pretence.

She was playing with fire enough as it was.

At least Killian was in the agreed spot in the hotel lobby when she got there, running slightly late and flustered and it took her a moment to actually work out that the tall, handsome guy in a suit she’d seen when she first scanned the space was, actually, Killian.

It was weird, seeing him out of the usual t-shirt and jeans he wore and she stopped in her tracks, near a woman playing a harp which put her on edge even more because how goddamn fancy was this place if there was a harpist in the lobby.

She was making a huge mistake and her first instinct was to run.  Flee the scene and never look back.  But it was far too late for that.  Killian looked at her and she watched as he broke out into a smile before calling out “Swan!” so loudly that even the harpist glanced his way.

Great.  Just great.

“You made it,” Killian said, as she walked over to him.  “I was getting a little worried.”

“Uh, yeah.  Traffic.  You know.”  Now they were in the same room again Emma seemed to have lost the powers of speech.  It had been easy when this was just a pie in the sky idea.

Now it felt far too real and here she was, standing next to this man in his good suit and his shiny shoes, who made her feel sweaty and unkempt in comparison.  This man who was looking at her in a concerned way that made her heart speed up and her throat feel tight; he was far too real as well.

“So what’s the game plan, then?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You know.  How are we going to convince this bloke we’re really a couple?  What’s the story of how we met?  Was it a dashing rescue to save you from drowning or something?”

The questions sent a wave of panic through Emma.  She’d been focused on the stuff to come and hadn’t really thought about their fictitious past.  Damn it all to hell.

“Don’t be silly.  This isn’t, like, immigration or anything.  The TV company won’t care.  If they ask we met at the bar and your brother introduced us.  Which is true.  A whole bunch of lies will be too hard to maintain.”  She looked at Killian sharply.  “You’re not doing this so you won’t get deported or anything, are you?”

“No.  I assure you, love, that if I were here to defraud the United States government, then you would be the first person I’d tell.”

“Right.  OK.  Good.  Then let’s...let’s do this.”

They took the elevator up to the third floor and then walked along the hall to the room number printed on the email Emma had been sent to arrange the meeting.  As they made their way past identical pale wood doors and along the ugly hallway carpet they fell into step so that they reached their destination side by side.

Only, neither of them actually knocked.  Instead there was some shuffling and a few sideways glances exchanged.

“Well, last chance to back out,” Emma said in the end.

“Nope.  I’m in this for the long haul.”

Matter somewhat settled, Emma knocked on the door and they were ushered in to meet August Booth.  He offered his hand to them both and there was a moment when she could see Killian carefully hiding his damaged hand behind his back, before putting the other forward to shake August’s.  It made Emma feel a pang of well...something.  There wasn’t anything she could do, and she doubted Killian needed her to tell him it didn’t matter when it quite obviously did.  

August then offered them a seat in front of a table littered with folders and paper that may once have been stacked, but were now spread across almost the whole surface.

Emma sat, feeling a little like she’d been called to the principal’s office but didn’t know what for.  She risked a glance at Killian, and he gave her a half-smile that made her feel marginally better.  

Meanwhile, August Booth continued to shuffle pieces of paper around.  Emma studied him across the table.  He was tall, and dark, with light eyes and a dusting of scruff across his jaw and really, if Emma thought about it, not all that dissimilar to Killian.

But for some reason he didn’t make her heart do a weird little juddering thing like Killian did, which was...probably because he held some kind of power over her future.  At least, that’s what Emma was going to put it down to.  Because it would just be ridiculous to think she was attracted to Killian who was here, simply, as a means to an end.  It could have been anyone, really, and it wouldn’t have mattered at all.

Although Emma was glad it was Killian sitting next to her, nervously drumming the fingers of his good hand against his leg and making her feel as though she wasn’t in this alone.

“Sorry guys.  Just getting things organised...OK.”  He suddenly looked up across the table.  “Now, let’s talk about Killian and Emma.”

Emma opened her mouth, and then promptly closed it again.  Killian-and-Emma just sounded...weird.  Because it wasn’t a thing, and now there was this guy she’d never met before asking her to talk about a relationship that didn’t exist and was never going to.

What the hell was she was doing here?

But clearly August Booth didn’t notice any reticence on Emma’s part.  He carried on, earnestly, as though this wasn’t some spiel he rolled out for every pair of prospective contestants.

“I know this show seems like it’s about the house and the renovations, but it’s not.  It’s about the people.  It’s about telling  _ your _ story, the story of Killian and Emma, and sharing that with our viewers.”

Well that just made it sound ten times worse as far as Emma was concerned.  The idea of all this sharing made her skin crawl.

What if the viewers figured out she was a fraud? 

She couldn’t bring herself to say anything, fearing that whatever she discussed now might be used against her at some later date.  

Killian didn’t appear to have the same concerns.  “So...we have a story?”

August smiled, like he might at a particularly precocious child.  “You do.  Well everyone does, don’t they?  But we’re seeing you guys as sort of a second chance at finding happiness narrative.  The idea of travelling halfway across the globe and finding that special someone, having one more shot at happiness right when you think all hope has been dashed.  It’s a classic romance trope that we think will really appeal to a slightly older demographic than reality shows usually would.  But that’s great because it’s a niche we’d really like to explore.”  

He sat back in his chair, looking like this should all make sense.  Emma was just...lost.  “I’m sorry.  What?”

“It’s because you’re foreign, love,” Killian said in an exaggerated whisper, leaning over so far that she got a hint of his aftershave.  “The housewives will think I’m wonderful for putting up with you saying cookie when you really mean biscuit.”

“What...no.”  She raised a hand as though she was going to push Killian’s shoulder, but then thought better of it and returned it to her lap.  “I mean, I’m not foreign.”  

August didn’t seem at all concerned by the fact Killian was teasing her and she was just confused by it all.  In fact he was beaming at them, well, mostly at Killian, like they’d come out top of the class.

“See?  This is what we want.  A little friction thrown in, but within the safe parameters of knowing that you guys are absolutely working hard on making it work, because this time it really matters.  A family home, right?  That’s the dream.”

Emma nodded slowly, because yes, that’s what she had signed up for.

“And your family must be excited about it all?  Your son, Emma...it’s Henry, right?  He’s got to be thrilled that you’re about to take this next step with Killian.”

“Um.  Yeah.  I guess.”  It was a less than enthusiastic response, but Emma knew she was lying, well, lying about the Emma-and-Killian part anyway, and that was bad enough.  She didn’t have to be happy about being involved in such a deception, did she?

“Great,” August continued, with all the enthusiasm that Emma had failed to muster.  “So we’ll look forward to seeing him help out with the renovations.  I think the viewers will really respond to the idea of a whole family working on the project together.”

“Oh.  He’s not coming,” Emma said, quickly.

The overly-friendly smile dropped immediately from August’s face.  “Not even to family week?”

“Well maybe then.  I mean, I kinda promised him he could.  But I...I don’t want him on camera at all.  He’s only 10.  If he wants to do this when he’s over 18 then, sure, but not now.”

“Uh-huh,” August said, studying her so intently that she felt like a specimen under a microscope.  “Well, we can discuss that later.”  

He turned to look at the laptop perched on the corner of the table and Emma was about to say that no, they wouldn’t discuss anything later on, but she suddenly became aware of the fact that Killian had reached over and gently placed his hand over hers.  

He was right, of course.  No point shooting themselves in the foot now they’d made it this far.  And she was grateful to Killian for maintaining the whole relationship thing in front of this guy.  That’d surely work in their favour, even if she had to keep reminding the people in charge of the show that Henry was out of the picture.

“So, Killian,” August said, turning the laptop around so she and Killian could both see the screen.  “Let’s talk about you.”

Emma peered at the picture on the screen which was of a boat, one of those ones with the two main parts that always looks like it’s really awkward and about to tip over.  And then Emma realised that this must have been Killian’s boat, or, at least, the one he sailed on.  Huh.

The sails had the logo for Prada rather prominently displayed down the side and Emma glanced sideways at Killian; the suit made a little more sense now.

When she looked back at the screen there was a picture of Killian with the boat behind him.  He was wearing a rather revealing grey wet-suit type outfit and carrying what looked like a crash helmet.  It wasn’t the sort of thing Emma had imagined people wore for sailing in, but then she’d never met anyone who sailed as a sport.  Or a job.  Or whatever it was Killian had been doing.

“That’s you, isn’t it?” August asked with a smile, pointing to the figure that clearly was Killian.  Emma felt his hand retreat and wondered whether it was such a great idea to bring this up.

“Yeah.  That’s me,” Killian answered slowly, and, Emma thought, a little sadly.

August wasn’t as quick as picking up on Killian’s change in mood.  Or perhaps, and this was the most likely option Emma thought, he just didn’t care.  Either way; he just carried on enthusiastically.  

“So I didn’t know much about sailing before...I mean, it seemed to be just all rich assholes, right?  But when I saw the research they did on you, it was quite the rags to riches story.  And then the accident, which was tragic, huh?”

Emma felt like that shouldn’t even be a question, especially when you saw how Killian’s posture had completely changed now, his shoulders hunched and his head lowered.  

“Yeah,” Killian said, almost without expression.  

“But,” August continued, still sounding upbeat about the whole thing, “The viewers will want to see you triumph. Well, they’ll want to share this journey with you as the love of a good woman, and the time that you spend building a home with her, sets you on a healing path.”

The way August was describing it, the story of Emma-and-Killian kinda sucked.  It sounded like a bad  _ Lifetime _ movie.  But then she wasn’t the one starring in the ‘look at the disabled person wield a hammer’ portion of the presentation.

Killian looked like he thought it didn’t just suck.  He looked a little angry, and a lot despondent.  “Mate, I don’t think we need to dredge up the past too much, do we?” he said to August, with a forced air of friendliness.  “Couldn’t we just talk about the future, or, or...something?”

All friendliness, forced or otherwise, dropped immediately from August’s face and he sighed, loudly.  “Look, I get that you guys aren’t comfortable with just throwing everything out there for public consumption.  It’s a lot to get your head around.  But this is TV, guys.  And at the end of the day you gotta have something to sell, some kind of angle.  Something that’s going to hook the viewers in and keep them coming back...and that’s got to be a little more than just finding out if you paint a hallway green or blue.  I mean, we can do so much with the show’s promotion but if you aren’t prepared to go with the ideas we’re putting forward then I don’t know…”  He trailed off in a way that sounded a little ominous to Emma.

“So what you’re saying is that if we don’t give you some angle you can sell to the public...something that makes us a couple they’d root for, then you’re not interested in us as contestants?” Killian asked, voicing Emma’s worst fears.  They’d come  _ so close _ , and now it looked like it might all be for nothing.

August shrugged nonchalantly.  “Look, you guys are great, but you can only go so far on the fact you have an accent and she’s blonde.  The viewers have to care about you as people, too.  Feel like you’re their friends and they want you to succeed.  Without a little bit of, uh, backstory then you’re just some pretty people getting everything they can’t have themselves.”

He waited a moment for that to sink in, before he started speaking again.  “But I’m sure we can come up with something.  I mean...Henry, right?  You could hear him on that video you sent us, directing the two of you.  I bet he’d love a chance to appear on the show...not, not all the time.  But just an interview or two...maybe we could film him helping out around the place, show how he gets on with Killian.  What do you think, Emma?”

Emma felt cold dread work its way down her spine.  It was one thing to pretend to be in a relationship knowing she was doing all of this  _ for  _ Henry, it was quite another to drag him into it and have him parade around with a guy they barely knew and who they’d never see again when it was all done and dusted.

The one bright spot in the whole mess that was Neal’s betrayal was that at least he’d already been gone when Henry was born and that had spared her son the pain of seeing his father leave.  She didn’t want to put him through a warped version of that pain just so she could win some money off a stupid reality TV show.

She was on the verge of giving August a, ‘thanks, but no thanks’ speech and leaving the room when Killian suddenly shifted forward a little in his seat.

“So, this story,” Killian asked.  “The one the viewers will be so riveted by.  It doesn’t really matter if it’s got anything to do with Henry or not, it just has to be  _ something _ .  Is that right?”

“Look, I get it, I do.  In this world, with the internet and the media...I know it’s hard to let a kid take centre stage…”

Killian cut August off.  “No.  No, I’m just saying that you won’t need Henry, will you, if we, uh...well, the accident...the yacht racing.  You can cover that if you like.  I mean, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”  Killian’s rather forced chuckle at the end of that sentence suggested that it did, but Emma wasn’t going to stand up and contradict him.  Not when she was mostly just confused by what was happening.

Was Killian really offering to let them tell his painful story just so that no one would interview Henry?

“Sure,” August agreed, the good-humour back in his voice.  “It’d work really well.  We’ve got the top sportsman angle, and then the tragedy...yeah.  I know how we’d spin that.” He got a far-off look on his face, like he could very well imagine just exactly how he’d tell that story.

Emma was still unsettled by the whole thing.  The show she’d thought was about whether or not you could strip some floorboards more successfully than a bunch of other couples turned out to be just another one of those ones where people’s tragedies were brought out to be examined by the public.  And then Killian had to go and offer up his own story in place of hers.  This wasn’t at all how she’d expected this meeting to go, and Emma had the unpleasant feeling that she’d somehow sacrificed Killian for a shot at her own future happiness.

It made her feel a little sick and a lot uneasy.  She was glad when, after another ten minutes or so of August telling them they were still in the running and handing them information packs about the town they were holding the competition in this time, the meeting was over.

Only that left her out in the corridor, alone with Killian, and wishing she were anywhere else in the world right then.  They rode the elevator down to the lobby in silence, each clutching the information pack August had pressed into their hands.

“So…” Emma began, when they stepped out into the lobby again.

“Yeah,” Killian agreed, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.

“Um,” Emma said, staring off at where the harpist was still diligently plucking away while being ignored by everyone just walking past her.  “I mean...I know I roped you into this, but you didn’t have to do that.”

“What now, love?”

“Do...that.  The thing back there.”  Emma sighed and tried valiantly to gather her thoughts into some semblance of order.  “Say you’d let them talk about your accident in place of interviewing Henry.  He’d probably like being on TV.”

“But it was abundantly clear that you don’t want him to be the star of this little show.”

“It was?”  Emma wondered why, if that was the case, August hadn’t done the decent thing and dropped the subject.

“Open book, remember love,” Killian said, finally smiling at her.  

“What?  No.”  She couldn’t tell if his statement was another example of his weirdly endearing attempts at flirting, or something else altogether.  Something a lot more honest that was, to Emma at least, far more frightening than another innuendo would ever be.

She decided the best thing was to try to brush it off.  “Me?  No.  I just...I’m not that interesting.  No one wants to know my story.”

Killian looked at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read.  “Well, perhaps I would.”

That was definitely a line.   _ Right? _

Emma hoped it was.  “Well if you’re that fascinated then you can ask me one question.  Anything you like.”

She waited expectantly, silently hoping that Killian would take this opportunity to ask her something filthy that she could brush off with an ‘euww’, but mostly expecting that he’d ask something about Henry’s father or, rather, why she’d driven him away in the first place.

But for a good few moments the only sound was the clinking of the flatware being moved by a lone waiter and the incessant harp music that was starting to give Emma a headache.  “You know what?” Killian said, at long last.  “I will.  But I’m going to save my question.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Emma said quickly.

“You said one question.  You didn’t say  _ when. _ ”

He was right.  Dammit.  “Fine,”  Emma huffed.  “Well that’s assuming I ever see you again.  For all we know we’re not going to make it any further than this short list.  So, uh, thanks anyway Killian.  See you round.”  With that, she turned on her heel and marched past the harpist and out the door of the hotel.

She tried very hard not to think any further about exactly what it was Killian might want to know about her.  In fact it was hardly on her mind at all.  Not even when they made tentative contact after August informed them they’d made it onto the show.  Not during the whole contract signing process when she had to use David’s ex-girlfriend as her lawyer and Killian came too, even though Kathryn kept insisting that separate legal representation might be a good idea given they weren’t really together.

Not at all during the planning, and the packing and the saying goodbye to Henry and pretending that she was going off on some adventure and wasn’t starting to dread being away from him for so long.

But then came the day when she couldn’t put it off any longer.  She was stuck in her tiny car, driving to Storybrooke, Maine, with Killian beside her, taking up so much damn space that every time she tried to change gear she risked accidentally running her hand up his thigh.  Which he’d probably enjoy.  Emma wasn’t sure she’d find it entirely distasteful either. 

That picture August had shown her, the one of Killian in the wetsuit.  It had stuck in her stupid brain.  Worse, it made her curious in a way she didn’t want to be curious because, dammit, this was supposed to be a business arrangement.  

Killian was drumming his fingers on the car door and filling the car with the same scent of aftershave she’d found so appealing at the interview and she finally couldn’t take it anymore.

“Go on, then.  Ask me the burning question.”

* * *

Being stuck in as small a space as a VW Beetle with Emma Swan should have been a lot more enjoyable, Killian thought.  Although it wasn’t the fact she kept frowning at the road as though it had personally offended her that bothered him, nor did he mind the fact that she’d been hot and cold towards him since they met.

Well, if he was being truthful, he did mind that a little.  But what was the most pertinent problem at the moment was this damn question she kept going on about.

Like most things concerning Emma, Killian had somehow managed to talk himself into a corner.  What had clearly been intended, by Emma, to be a way of moving the conversation along from the fact he’d thrown himself to the wolves, or the mercy of the TV producer anyway, had now become this thing hanging over them.  And all because he’d wanted the upper hand in the relationship for once.

Except that it wasn’t a relationship.  Not a proper one, anyway.  It was just Killian tagging along with Emma while she set out to conquer the world, or renovate a house, or however she saw this project they’d now embarked on.  Killian had absolutely no qualms about whether or not she could do it; the woman was nothing if not forged with a steely-eyed determination that was really quite attractive when it didn’t cause her to obliterate everything that stood in her way.  

He just really wished that she didn’t treat him quite like an annoying bystander all the time.  And now, here they were, in this godawful bone-rattler of a car and she was pressing him to ask the bloody question.

Killian had a million questions about Emma Swan.  He didn’t think she’d answer any of them.

“Right, love.  Well, how about this?  Can we stop for chowder the next time we pass one of those dodgy looking places advertising it?  I’m bloody famished.”

“Yeah.  That’s not what I meant,” Emma replied.  “You know, the question that you get to ask me so you’ll be the person who gets to know the real Emma.”  

She sounded grumpy, and Killian guessed that asking her anything right then wasn’t going to get him a look at the real Emma Swan at all.  In fact, quite the opposite.  He was willing to bet that all he’d get was the brush-off.

So he’d settle for chowder.  Or anything to eat, actually.  He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was hungry.  

“No, I was serious about needing to eat.  Trust me, if I pass out here you’ll be the one trying to prise me out of this seat.  And, quite frankly, I don’t fancy your chances, love.  I think my legs might be permanently wedged under this glovebox.”

“You’re worse than Henry,” she muttered.  “Always thinking about your stomach.”

“Amongst other things,” Killian said, before he could stop himself.  At least that made Emma’s face relax from its frown, but only so she could turn her head and raise her eyebrows.  “That’s your dirty mind, not mine,” he added.

“Well, whatever.  Let’s get you something to eat, and maybe if your mouth is full then it’ll stop you making those stupid wisecracks.”  There was a pause.  “And, yeah, if you say anything about the full mouth thing, I swear I will leave you on the side of the road and you can hitch the rest of the way.  Or not.”

“Fair enough, love.” 

It was true that getting Emma riled up like this wasn’t exactly the relationship he wanted with her, but now that Killian had started down this path, it was hard to step off it.

And when this thing was only a job, in a manner of speaking, it was hardly worth getting too invested in it anyway.  When it was all over, when she’d wrung all the manual labour out of him that she could and he’d been paraded all over the telly as some sort of wounded hero brought back from the brink by her fair hand.  When they’d done their time in Nowhere, Maine and got their money, then it was all back to normal, wasn’t it?

Only Killian wasn’t exactly thrilled with that thought, because he didn’t really have a normal to go back to.  The couch-surfing was losing its appeal and he couldn’t hang around getting in the way of Liam’s life forever.  

They drove on, Emma occasionally fiddling with the radio when the song didn’t suit her, or trying to get a look at the screen on her phone to work out where they were going.  

“You know, love.  I’m actually quite good with a map if you have one.”

“Don’t need it.  I have this,” Emma said, taking her eyes off the road to squint at the phone again and making Killian wish that he was finding his own way to Storybrooke.  Or, at the very least, that he’d been allowed to drive.  But despite offering his services when they left Boston Emma had turned him down flat, insisting that only she knew how to handle the car.

And now she didn’t even need him to read maps.  Killian hoped it wasn’t going to be this way right through the contest.  Sure, Emma had talked a good game, wanting to know if he had taste and the like, but Killian was left with the niggling feeling that perhaps he was just there to make up the numbers.

“Look, how about that place?” Emma said, pointing to a building on the side of the road, a red flashing neon sign on the roof alerting passing motorists to its existence.

Killian felt a little better after lunch.  The chowder itself had been almost inedible; if this was what passed for decent seafood around here he was going to starve.  On the plus side, however, Emma seemed slightly calmer outside the confines of her car and he thought, or maybe imagined, that she was even starting to relax a little.

But it didn’t last.  When they finally located Storybrooke, after an episode that involved Emma swearing vociferously at her phone when she made a wrong turn and with Killian having lost most of the feeling in his legs from being cramped up for so long, Emma’s face turned dark again.  

Killian could understand the feeling.  Now they were here, just the two of them, it all seemed a little too real.  What had started as a distraction, a way to get a pretty blonde to pay attention to him, had now turned into a six week DIY boot-camp and Killian felt the weight of Emma’s expectation sitting heavily across his shoulders.

Maybe drifting through life, waiting for inspiration to walk up to Liam’s couch and punch him in the face hadn’t been so bad after all.

“Dammit,” Emma said, whipping her head around so fast that the end of her ponytail caught Killian across the cheek.  This really was a bloody ridiculous car.  “We were supposed to pull in over there.”

Downtown Storybrooke consisted of exactly one street, by Killian’s estimation, imaginatively titled Main Street.  But even with those limitations, Emma had driven past their destination which, according to all the information they’d been provided by the show’s producers, was somewhere called Granny’s.

Emma executed a U-turn which, Killian thought, might have been completely illegal and then drove into the car park beside the building with the large sign that designated it as Granny’s.  It looked to be more a restaurant of some sort, rather than the B&B they’d been promised for their first night’s accommodation.

“I guess there isn’t a lot of choice around here,” Emma muttered, as she stopped the car and peered through the windscreen at the blank wall of the building.

“I suppose not,” Killian agreed.  For a moment they sat in silence and he wondered if there was something else Emma wanted to add, but in all honesty his legs were killing him and he just wanted to get it over with now.

“Shall we go inside then, Swan?”

A terse “Yep,” was all he got from Emma, before she was out of the driver’s door and opening up the boot to get their bags.  He’d seen this behaviour from her before, when they’d gone to the hotel room to meet August Booth, and he really hoped that this time it didn’t end with him agreeing to any further outrageous demands for bloody backstory.

He liked to think that his sacrifice... _ noble _ sacrifice, even, was driven purely out of a desire to help Emma protect Henry.  Killian could even reason why he’d want to do do such a thing for a boy he hardly knew.  All those years when his own mother wasn’t protecting him from the realities of his father’s life had taken a toll; the snide comments about how his dad was down the pub again, the questions about whether he’d seen him and who he was with and then, when Dad had stopped coming home from the pub altogether, the endless diatribes about what a shitty bloke he’d always been.  She’d treated Killian like she might one of the other women in the street, merely there to be the willing audience for her interminable kitchen sink dramas, never caring how it affected her son in the slightest.

That was the role his own mother had cast him in, and he hadn’t enjoyed it one bit.  And, certainly, Emma’s desire to prevent Henry from inadvertently becoming some kind of internet meme before he even had his own phone was a different kettle of fish altogether, but he still admired her for wanting to keep her son out of the fray.

He admired her for a lot of reasons.  And, maybe, whether he admitted it or not, they had as much to do with why he’d agreed that they could talk about his accident on-camera as any other tenuous link between his own childhood and Emma’s relationship with Henry might.

But August had said that everyone liked a good story, and Killian was growing quite attached to the one he’d made up so perhaps, for the sake of his own mental health if nothing else, it was better to stick to it now.

Killian shouldered his bag and followed Emma towards a side door into the building, one marked with a small sign over it announcing that it led to the B&B.  Inside there was a counter with no one around and he watched as Emma clamped her hand down hard on the bell.

A young woman, tall, brunette, bright-lipsticked to match the smile she wore, ducked her head in.  “Oh, you’re here!” she said.  “We were getting a little worried about you guys making it.”

Emma frowned, as though she couldn’t figure out why they may have been expected here, and then, clearly, realisation dawned.  As did a desire to absolve herself of all responsibility for their tardiness.

“That’s Killian’s fault.  He wanted to stop for lunch.”

“In my defence love, I do occasionally require food.”

Emma gave him a look over her shoulder that suggested his input into the conversation wasn’t required.  But he was feeling a little rebellious so he leaned forward and said to the woman, in a conspiratorial voice, “I’ve seen her efforts with houseplants, if I didn’t remind her that I require sustenance I suspect that I’d be left to wither in a corner as well.”

It might be true that he’d seen Emma’s beleaguered houseplants on the one occasion he’d been allowed to step inside her apartment, but it was clear from the glare Emma was still giving him that she didn’t think their state of neglect was something that should be brought to anyone else’s attention.

He tried to find it in himself to feel ashamed for letting his mouth run away with him, but he couldn’t.  He was annoyed with Emma for all but ignoring him this whole time and, more importantly, annoyed with himself for caring so much.  

The woman behind the desk didn’t make any comment, but kept on smiling as she handed a key to Emma.  “No plants to take care of in there, but, uh, you guys got the twin room.  Sorry about that!”

She didn’t sound sorry at all, and Killian couldn’t read Emma’s expression from where he was standing to figure out exactly where she stood on the matter.  It wasn’t until they had actually located their designated room, down a sickeningly green corridor and up a flight of stairs, that she said anything.

“At least this way no one has to sleep on that thing,” Emma commented, pointing to an over-stuffed, floral-upholstered monstrosity of an armchair pushed into the corner of the room.

“No.  I suppose not,” Killian agreed, placing his bag carefully on the bed Emma wasn’t hovering beside.  There was an envelope placed by the pillow and he picked it up and opened it.

“It says we’re requested to meet at the diner downstairs,” he informed Emma.

“When?”

“Now.  I guess that’s why they thought we were late.”

“Right, yeah.  I’ll just…”  She pointed to the bathroom door, and then disappeared inside, leaving Killian to sit and wait for his own turn.  And when she did return to the bedroom, there was some awkward shuffling as they tried to move past each other, during which time Emma refused to make eye contact and Killian began to despair that they’d ever manage to look like a couple to random people on the street, let alone to a film crew who wanted to capture their every activity.

By the time he re-entered the bedroom, Emma was a little impatient.  “We better get down there,” she said.  

Killian noticed that she’d taken the opportunity to swap the tank top she’d been wearing for a looser fitting t-shirt and that her hair was now out of its ponytail and less likely to be used as a lethal weapon.  Still, she shrugged on the same red, leather jacket that she’d worn practically every time he’d ever seen her and it wasn’t hard to notice the way her posture changed with it, as though she was preparing herself for battle.

And he could hardly talk either, he realised, as he carefully placed his left hand in his jeans pocket when they left the room.  He reflected that between them they had enough defence mechanisms to litter a small minefield and he wasn’t at all sure whether that made them better or worse for each other.

There was always the chance of getting caught in someone else’s blast, he supposed, so that meant they were probably unsuited.  Which was an utterly depressing thought because he was...well, fond of her, might be the most apt description.

And he did rather fancy her when she wasn’t scowling at him.

“I’m coming,” he assured the back of Emma’s head, and they made their way back downstairs and through a door which led to a brightly-lit diner of the sort he had once imagined only existed in the American TV shows he’d watched in his living room at home.  Usually while ignoring whatever argument was going on between his parents in the kitchen.

August Booth was there, and stood up to greet them immediately.  “Emma!  Killian!  You made it!”

He sounded as though he were greeting long-lost friends who’d trekked cross-country to attend a wedding, not a couple of people who’d been jumping through hoops to get the opportunity to out-wallpaper a bunch of other cretins and were therefore obliged to make their presence known to him.

Killian smiled, a little.  Emma said nothing.  August didn’t appear to realise that neither of them were as happy to see him as he was to see them.

“This is just a little informal get-together with the other contestants,” he continued.  “Before all the real fun starts tomorrow.”

He turned to a corner booth, around which were crowded four other people.  Curiously, one of them was the girl who’d handed them their room key and Killian wondered, briefly, if there’d been some kind of foul play already.  Shooting the opposition in the foot...by what, exactly?  Depriving them of sharing a bed?

Except that he was the only member of their party who felt deprived and it was definitely the armchair’s less than comforting embrace he’d avoided so he could hardly cry foul.  Even though he wanted to.

August started on a round of introductions which Killian tried to pay attention to, but mostly he was concerned with the fact that every new name required a handshake and, although he was offering his right hand, he was conscious that everyone’s eyes somehow drifted towards his left.  It certainly wasn’t his most favourite activity in the world.  

That done, he and Emma took seats alongside the others and he did his best to size up the other competitors.  There were Anna and Kristoff, newlyweds from somewhere in Minnesota.  “We’ve been living in my sister Elsa’s basement,” Anna announced.  “And she’s  _ really _ good at hiding her feelings, but even I can tell she’s ready for us to leave.”

That set the party chuckling in a nervous kind of way.  It was clear Killian wasn’t the only one trying to sort out who the competition was, everyone was warily studying the other faces around the table while August looked on, like the parent whose kids were playing nicely in the sandpit.

Then the woman who’d given them the room key spoke up.  “I’m Ruby and I guess I should ‘fess up that I have the hometown advantage.  Well, I’m from here, anywhere.  Literally, right here.”  She pointed to the floor.  “The Granny on the sign is my grandmother.”

“And I’m Mulan,” the woman next to her said.  “Ruby’s fiancee who’s here to tick more than one box on diversity.”  She rolled her eyes and they all chuckled, half-embarrassed by the truth of her words.

Killian realised that everyone was now looking expectantly at Emma and himself and he wondered if he should speak up, or wait for Emma.  In the end Emma mumbled a brief introduction that covered the bare minimum.

“So this is exciting, huh?” Anna gushed, under the fond gaze of her large, blond husband.  Killian thought it was anything but.  He kept his opinion to himself, however, and stayed mostly quiet as everyone else chatted about the competition, despite ordering and devouring a large quantity of food.  Portion sizes in this place were ridiculous.

It was during the moments when Kristoff was complaining about the enormous binder of renovation ideas that Anna had brought with them, and Mulan was complaining about the cost of the home-decorating magazines Ruby had been subscribing to for months that he felt Emma go stiff as a board next to him.

“You guys are...uh, well-prepared then?” she asked.

“Oh, I’ve been wanting to do this for years and years!”  Anna said, happily.  “Elsa and I used to have this old dolls house and I’d re-organise that every week if I could.”  She gave Emma a bright smile and went back to eating her lasagne.

“I guess because I used to be a receptionist for an interior design firm I kind of got the bug,” Ruby confessed.  “And that’s where I met Mulan.  She’s just finished her Masters in architecture.”

“Oh.  OK.”  Emma’s voice gave almost nothing away but Killian could see the tension across her shoulders, the way she sat up straighter as if that would make all the difference to the fact that they’d been caught out badly by not doing any of their homework.  Bugger it all to hell.

He wished he had something he could pull out, some trick he had up his sleeve; a spare architecture degree, or a sister-in-law who liked interior decorating and not just sticking glitter on things or  _ something _ .

But he couldn’t, and it left him feeling jittery and useless.  The whole thing was a bad idea from start to finish.

The meal over with, everyone drifted away, still chatting excitedly about what might happen when the competition started properly the next morning.  Except, of course, for Emma who just looked tired and drawn and all of a sudden Killian wanted to be anywhere else but stuck with the woman who was counting on him not to bugger up all her dreams.

“You know what, love?  I’m just going to take a walk around.  Get the lie of the land, as it were.”  He stepped away before Emma could suggest going with him, if she was even likely to of course, and walked out the front door of the diner and on to Main Street.

The breeze outside was cool and made him wish he’d brought his own jacket, but he wasn’t returning to the room now.  Instead he put his hands in his jean pockets and strolled slowly, past the shops displaying souvenirs and wedding dresses, past the ice cream parlour and the bakery.  Walking without even really thinking about exactly where he was headed.

But it was obvious when the cries of the seagulls grew louder and the rolling wash of the waves became visible as he rounded a corner.  Past a building that looked abandoned, Storybrooke Cannery painted on the side in fading black letters.  He stood on the jetty and looked out at the sea, watched the dinghies moored just out from shore and birds searching in amongst the retreating foam of the waves for their dinner.

At least the place wasn’t a complete dead loss, Killian thought.  This spot was all right.  And he could think a little better out here, near the water.  

Only most of his thoughts were still a little melancholy.  It felt wrong, being here.  It felt like he was the wrong person for this task.  He couldn’t be what Emma needed and he wasn’t even sure if she knew what that was anyway.  It had been a bit of a lark at first, the woman with the chocolate bar who’d wanted to go on some TV show with him.  A story he could tell about how he met...well, whatever Emma might go on to be to him in the future.

Only if he stuffed up everything now that would be it.  And he couldn’t...he wasn’t sure he wanted that kind of pressure.  

In an effort to turn himself away from the morbid tone of his thoughts he concentrated on the launch that was coming in to dock.  Storybrooke Tours and Charters was displayed prominently down the side, but exactly who its passengers were was a mystery to Killian.  The only occupant he saw was the guy in the red knit cap who got out to tie it up as it bumped up against the jetty.

Knowing there was no putting off the inevitable forever, he turned and started retracing his steps back towards town.  This time he wasn’t really taking any notice of his surroundings, just working through in his head exactly what he’d say to Emma, how he’d try to extricate himself from the ridiculous situation he’d ended up in.

Bloody Liam.  It was all his fault for even encouraging him to do this in the first place.  It was probably just a ploy to get the couch back, and had nothing to do with what he thought would be good for Killian.

It felt good to pin it all on someone else, but Killian suspected that he really only had himself to blame.  The desire to impress Emma, all that bullshit about noble sacrifices he’d been spouting to himself, it had just led him to the point where he was going to fail spectacularly.  And, at this point, he’d had enough failure to last a lifetime.

He reached the diner and walked through to the back, taking the stairs two at a time in his rush to get there and get it all off his chest before he chickened out.

Inside the room though, Emma was in the process of settling down for the night.  “Oh, you’re back,” she said.  “After you left there was some discussion about what we might be in for with the opening challenge tomorrow.  I didn’t even really know there was going to be...anyway.  It sounds like it might be a physical thing, so I thought a good night’s sleep would be for the best. So I’ve set the alarm on my phone for six.  OK?”

“Yeah.  Sure, love.  I’ll just…”  he pointed at the bathroom and grabbed a t-shirt out of his bag, before stepping in there, cursing himself for not having the courage to just say what he needed to say.  He was a coward.  A bloody, ridiculous coward.

But telling that to the reflection he saw in the mirror didn’t help, and in the end he finished up and went back in the room to confront her.

“Look, Emma…” he began, but she looked up from her phone and he was suddenly dumbstruck.  It was unfair how beautiful she looked at that moment, right at the point when he knew he was going to have break her heart and dash his own hopes in the process.

“No, I just...I get it.  This is all...weird,” she said, frowning a little.  “It’s not quite what I thought it would be...I mean, binders?  Why didn’t Henry tell me about the freakin’ binders?”  Her voice rose, tension and worry spilling out along with her words.

“But, I think…” she continued.  “It won’t be that bad, will it?”

She looked up at where Killian was standing, her green eyes wide and, he realised, hopeful.

And then it struck him, what it was she wanted from him.  Hope.  Hope that they’d make it through without ending up looking like idiots and maybe even win some money in the process.  Most of all though, she wanted hope that she wasn’t going to let her son down.

“No, I think we’ll be fine, love.  It won’t be bad at all.  And anyway, you don’t need a binder.  You have me.”  He fixed her with a smile that bordered on the ridiculous, and climbed into his own narrow, hard bed.

Emma snorted, loudly.  A ridiculous noise that shouldn’t have come from quite such an alluring creature.  “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, buddy.  You’re the secret weapon after all.”

“Yep.  That I am, love,” Killian said, gently, as he settled himself against the pillow.

Emma switched off the light on the nightstand.  “Just make sure all weapons stay on your side of the room, agreed?”

“Of course, love.  Best behaviour.”  He paused.  “Goodnight, Emma.”

“‘Night, Killian.”

Killian wasn’t completely certain that it would be better in the morning.  He was more than a little convinced that it actually might be worse, and that they really were two idiots who didn’t know what they’d got themselves into.

But he’d convinced Emma that they’d be all right in the end, and he thought that maybe his work here was done.  At least for this day.  Tomorrow would be another story altogether.

**Thanks for reading!**   


 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I am back from my kind-of hiatus due to travelling and just in time to hit another one due to a new job. But I have the second part of this story for you and, for those reading Prairie Lullaby, hopefully there will be an update to that one soon. This has been betaed by the lovely kliomuse, but I have fiddled with it after that, so feel free to blame me for all mistakes.

 

Emma woke up, not to the sound of the alarm that she'd carefully set the night before, but to someone pushing her shoulder and whispering her name. Adrenaline flooded through her, ready to fight off whoever the hell it was.

Her eyes flew open, but only just after she'd thrown her hands out in defence, and she could see that it was Killian leaning over her and that she now had her hands pressed to his bare chest and just...no. Emma snatched her hands back quickly and Killian wisely backed away from the bed; a move that Emma agreed with in theory, but found herself a little annoyed at.

She didn't really understand why he'd been dumb enough to wake her up, anyway. Hadn't they agreed he was going to stay on his own side of the room?

"Whoa, Swan. It's all right."

"Why'd you wake me up?" Emma asked, not proud of the slight whine in her voice, but unable to stop it all the same. It seemed really early...how early was it? She picked up her phone off the nightstand. Five-thirty. In the morning. No wonder she was annoyed and confused. No one functioned at this hour of the morning.

Killian looked a little sheepish. "Well, I was awake and I was thinking that, perhaps, we don't want to be the last ones to arrive like yesterday, so I thought I'd tell you that the shower was free now."

"Oh. Right, yes. That's...that's not a bad idea." Emma sat up and tried to get her brain up and processing what was going on. "So...you think if we're ready before the other teams it'll psych them out or something?"

Killian shrugged, which was really, _really_ , distracting when he wasn't wearing a shirt and it took a moment for Emma to realise that she was just staring at him. She tried to think of what would be appropriate to say under the circumstances, but her mind was drawing a blank.

It seemed, though, that he mistook her silence for something more accusatory. "I just thought that in the absence of binders stuffed with fabric swatches or, um, magazines...tactics might be our best bet. Normally works in the water."

"Yeah. No. Right. You're right. I should get up." Emma threw back the covers and swung her legs out of bed, feeling the chill of bare floorboards under her feet. For a moment she reconsidered the whole thing and almost lay down again instead, but she pushed on and managed to be upright and standing after only a moment's hesitation.

"There better still be hot water," she grumbled, shuffling her way towards the bright wedge of light coming from the half-open bathroom door.

"I can assure you I was most restrained," Killian said, turning his back to her as she passed which meant that she got a whiff of something pleasant. Something that wasn't his usual cologne.

Emma stopped in her tracks. "Did you use my shower gel?"

Killian turned back around to face her. "I...uh. Well it was there so I assumed…"

Emma had spent a while the previous night arranging all her toiletries. Alone in the room and with nothing else to distract her, carefully placing her shower gel and her shampoo on the edge of the bathtub had seemed as good a way as any to pass the time. But now, as tempting as it was to ask Killian to bend down so she could sniff his head to check for evidence of shampoo-theft, she refrained.

Still. It seemed like he'd been taking liberties.

But before she could explain that to him, he launched into his defence. "You know, love, it's probably not a bad thing if we smell the same. Sells the whole couple angle, don't you think?"

"I guess," Emma said, noncommittally. It didn't seem like a great defence, but she wasn't awake enough to argue further and so she simply continued on with the process of getting ready. She'd been under the, thankfully hot, water for a good five minutes before she realised that it was highly unlikely anyone was actually going to sniff them. _That_ would just be weird.

Emma wondered what other liberties Killian might be prepared to take in the name of looking like a couple. She'd have to be vigilant, she decided, or the next thing he'd be eating half her food, or borrowing her car and using up all the gas, or sharing her bed or…

Well that was definitely not going to happen.

By the time Emma had finished her shower, Killian was fully dressed and sitting on his neatly made bed looking at his phone. Emma felt flustered, caught out with still-wet hair and only in a robe until she grabbed something clean from her bag and she hurried back to the bathroom.

When she emerged again Killian was pacing the room and her bed was made, the pyjamas she'd hastily thrown on there were tidied away somewhere and, unless she was mistaken, her phone was now sitting straighter on the nightstand and her shoes were lined up next to the bed. That was weird. And slightly creepy. And maybe he'd meant to be helpful but right then, feeling on the back foot as she was, Emma wasn't really able to appreciate it.

"Don't touch my stuff, OK?" Emma said, her words sounding like the kind of snarl a dog makes when anyone looks in the direction of its favourite bone.

"Are you still going on about the shower gel?"

"No, because now you've been pawing my pyjamas. So don't, all right?"

Killian sighed. "Fine, love. Whatever you say. Let's get on with this, shall we?" He gestured to the door and Emma led the way through it and down the horrible green corridor to the stairs to the diner where, Emma very much hoped, there would be copious amounts of coffee available.

But the place was deserted, and they had no choice but to sit at the counter and wait until someone appeared from the back and noticed they were there. The waitress looked a bit startled at their presence, but recovered enough to place menus in front of them, and, thankfully, pour large cups of coffee as well.

A couple of sips later Emma was feeling not only more awake but also a good deal more ashamed of her earlier comments. But Killian had remained silent beside her since they'd sat down, only asking the confused waitress whether there was any chance they had something called brown sauce lying around, and she didn't really know how to broach the subject. So she stuck with placing an order for waffles and remaining as silent as the man sitting next to her.

God, they really were acting like a married couple now, weren't they?

The waitress, who was wearing a huge red badge with the words _Hi, my name is Hester_ , printed on it as well as an assortment of other badges which proclaimed her to be in training and announced that they should ask her about the avocados, mostly watched them warily, refilling Emma's coffee cup and nodding obediently when Killian insisted that he wanted his bacon extra crispy and that he'd accept ketchup, but really it was a poor substitute.

The almost-silence was only broken by the sound of someone else clattering down the stairs at the back of the diner. Emma turned in time to see Ruby push the door open and march into the diner as though she owned it. Which, Emma realised, was a distinct possibility given her relationship to the place's owner.

"Oh, hey guys!" Ruby called out, coming straight over to where Killian and Emma were sitting. "You're up early!"

Emma watched as Killian turned to face Ruby. "Always best to be up bright and early on a competition day," he said cheerfully. "Makes the morning more relaxed."

Emma could tell that Killian was lying through his teeth. He'd been the opposite of relaxed all morning; the compulsive tidying, the pacing, the way he'd been drumming his fingers so hard on the counter that she'd nearly considered removing a few from his right hand as well. He was wound up tighter than a two-dollar watch.

If Ruby thought the same, then she didn't show it. "Oh, sure. I guess we've got a busy day ahead, huh? Wonder what they'll have in store for us? Some of the other seasons they were really rough on the contestants on the first day, sending them off on wild goose chases. Real test of a relationship, I'd imagine, being dumped in a strange place and suddenly having to find your way around it."

She paused long enough to smile and wave at the morose Hester and for the reality of her words to sink in for Emma. Ruby was the local girl; Ruby had the advantage. Plus, she had an actual functioning relationship with the other person on her team. Emma felt like she and Killian were the team made up of the kids no one else wanted to pick. It didn't feel great at all.

"I don't know," Killian said, quietly. "I think I've always liked being the outsider."

There was a moment of silence that bordered on awkward, as Killian and Ruby eyed each other and Emma wondered whether she'd have to intervene, but in the end Ruby broke out into one of her over-sized smiles and looked as though they were all sharing some great joke. "I guess we'll have to wait and see what they give us to do, won't we?" she said, leaning over a little as she laughed. And then she took a deep sniff.

"Hey! You guys smell great by the way."

"Uh, we do?" Emma asked.

"Sure! Whatever that stuff is, it's not the bars of soap Granny usually provides. And it's cute you smell the same." Ruby paused, and then narrowed her eyes a little, looking like she was considering something.

"You know, I think I got the last of the hot water this morning, which Mulan is none too pleased about...but I think I know where it all went, don't I?" She pointed a finger at Emma who was about to vehemently deny using more than her fair share and pin it all on Killian getting up at the crack of dawn, when Ruby suddenly laughed.

"Well, that was a work-around for the bed situation I guess. Very creative!" With that she laughed again, and then walked away just as Hester placed a plate of waffles in front of Emma.

Knowing that she couldn't put it off any longer, Emma turned to the side to catch Killian's eye, expecting him to be triumphant about the whole smelling like each other thing. Only he still looked a little morose and she remembered her harsh words from earlier.

This was why she didn't do relationships. Not real ones, anyway. It was just far too easy for it all to go wrong and they hadn't even been here 24 hours and now Killian hated her and probably didn't want to be here and she could hardly blame him, could she? He should be grinning, and flirting and saying inappropriate things about dropping the soap and now he was just reading the back of a bottle of ketchup and not making eye contact and Emma hated everything about this place.

There were more arrivals at the back of the diner. This time Anna and Kristoff came through the door, Anna wearing what looked like a snowsuit and visibly shivering. Ruby stopped to say something to them and Emma heard a few words that sounded like 'water just wouldn't heat up' and 'I've been in snowstorms that have been more pleasant.'

Emma turned away from the miserable looking faces of her fellow contestants and nudged Killian's shoulder with her own. "I think your plan to get up early and psych out the other contestants worked...just maybe not how you imagined it would."

Killian looked past Emma at the others, but remained silent and, for a moment, Emma thought her attempt to build a bridge hadn't worked at all and that he was hell-bent on ignoring on her. But when he shifted back around in his seat he sighed, loudly, and then finally spoke. "Sorry about the...well, touching your things, love."

"Oh, yeah. That's, uh...all right." There was no way Emma could adequately explain the very real and absolutely gut-wrenching reaction she'd had to realising that Killian had moved her belongings. All those years in and out of group homes in the foster system and she'd learned that it wasn't just about making sure no one stole your stuff, it was just as important to always know where it was. If it wasn't handy, if you couldn't grab it in time, then you'd be leaving without it the next time they moved you on. It would have sounded stupid if she'd tried to explain it, so better to just brush it all under the rug and start again.

"At least we didn't come to blows over it," Killian said, sounding a little more cheerful now.

"Yeah, you just make sure you don't decide to give Ruby any details about anything like... _that_ ," Emma replied, waving a hand in front of Killian's face.

"What?" His forehead crinkled in confusion, and then his eyes widened dramatically. "Oh. No, love. I wasn't going to go _there_ , although clearly you did. Can I tell her that?"

"No!"

Killian shrugged. "Fair enough. I've avoided one punch-up this morning, I'd like to avoid this one if I can."

He took a sip of his coffee and watched Emma over the rim of the mug in a way that seemed to be urging her on. She shouldn't take the bait. She absolutely shouldn't…

"If it did come to that, you know I can take you down, right?"

"Of course, Swan. Too bloody right. Take me down any time you like."

"You're impossible."

"But I smell nice, and happily engage in psychological warfare with our competition, so that makes up for it."

Emma wished she could come up with something scathing in response but, she conceded, he was kind of right. Not so much about smelling nice although, Emma had to admit, she did like the way he smelled, whether he'd been stealing her shower gel or not. And, yeah, she hadn't much appreciated the fact he'd woken her up when it was still dark out, but the fact he'd done it because they were part of a team and he wanted to win just as much as she did made her feel like she wasn't a complete lunatic.

The night before she'd been so lonely, sitting in the room by herself, waiting for Henry to text back and tell her how his day had gone and whether the math test had been as bad as he'd thought it might be. Hearing about it from a text just wasn't the same as being there. And then she'd been so worried that Killian was having second thoughts and he'd just leave her there, in a cold bedroom in a strange town.

But he'd come back and he'd given her some hope that they might actually have a shot at this whole goddamn debacle and it had made her feel a little bit better about everything.

Or a lot better, actually. She just wasn't going to confess that to Killian.

"Yeah. You're all right, I guess. For someone who is weirdly obsessed with their sauce being brown, that is."

"Beggars can't be choosers, huh love?"

Emma wasn't certain exactly who that remark was most insulting to; Killian or herself. Maybe she'd been right when she'd felt like they were the team made up of everyone else's leftovers.

"Yep." Emma raised her coffee cup in salute. Perhaps beggars couldn't be choosers but that didn't necessarily rule them out of being winners, did it? "But here's to the beggars having their day."

* * *

 

Killian had slept badly and while he'd like to blame the horrible excuse for a mattress that he'd been forced to sleep on, the culprit was really his own mind which had spent the early hours of the morning concocting various strategies and running through a number of increasingly outlandish situations, including the one where he faked his own death and disappeared from the show and Emma's life, forever.

But dawn had come and he'd had to face up to the fact that there was no getting out of it now and strategy was perhaps the only thing they had going for them. And he'd thought he'd been quite clever, coming up with the idea that they get the jump on the competition, only he'd then gone and cocked it up by tidying Emma's things.

The worst part was that it wasn't even something he'd done all that consciously. Just an old habit, really, trying to keep himself busy so he didn't brood.

He ate the bacon that wasn't at all crispy and tried not to miss the brown sauce that might make it slightly more palatable. Honestly, he could forgive this country for its miserable taste in chocolate but the lack of HP sauce, or even a measly steak sauce alternative, just seemed cruel. Still, at least Emma seemed to be over her grumpiness. Things could only improve from that point.

Things did not improve in the short term. By the time breakfast was completed, all the contestants and the intolerable August Booth had found their way to the diner, many of them complaining about the lack of hot water available. The establishment's owner, who appeared to only answer to the name Granny, arrived just in time to greet the half-hearted complaints with an incredulous look and a lot of muttering about how people needed to be grateful for running water at all.

August rounded everyone up and, just when Killian believed the competition might finally get underway and he could settle his nerves with a good dose of adrenaline, they were simply shuffled down the street to an empty shop, which was serving as the production office for the duration of the filming.

None of this was of much interest to Killian, although he tried to smile politely and occasionally remember to pay attention to the constant list of names and job titles August rattled off. He shouldn't have been surprised by the number of people involved, after all there were usually far more people working on land than there were on the water in every racing syndicate he'd ever been a part of, but it was still a little disconcerting peeking behind the curtain as it were. Who knew that a stupid reality show took this much effort to produce?

They were briefly introduced to the show's host, who took less interest in the contestants than Killian had managed to muster for 'runner number three' or whoever August had just dragged over to present to them. Killian vaguely recognised Arthur Avalon from some daytime telly back in the UK...something about guessing the value of your neighbour's loft conversion, perhaps? Designed, no doubt, to appeal to old age pensioners and students and no one with half a brain.

But somehow the wanker had ended up here and now they were all going to be subjected to his smarmy banter on a regular basis. Lovely.

Still, as overwhelming as all of this information was for Killian, he was more worried about the effect it was having on Emma who, once again, had gone stiff and silent at his side. It had already been a less than auspicious start to the morning, to the whole competition in fact, and he was desperate for a way to get back in her good graces. While they were stuck in this interminable lecture he was never going to get one.

Next up they were frog-marched to where several marquees were set up in a carpark somewhere behind all the shops. Like the offices, these were a hive of activity, although Killian couldn't have told you exactly what any of the people there were actually doing, other than running about with coffee cups.

"All right, take five everyone!" August announced, clapping his hands in front of him like he'd been left in charge of a primary school class. "Craft services is over there!" He pointed to a table which seemed to be the source of all the coffee cups he'd seen in people's hands and, before Killian could suggest that he and Emma take August up on his offer, she was striding towards it purposefully, leaving Killian to trail along in her wake.

The contestants all lined up at the table, breaking into couples and taking in the display of food in front of them.

"Look at all this food!" Anna...it was Anna, wasn't it?...exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "Do you think we're really allowed to just have as much as we want?" she asked her fiancé, but he didn't reply and simply looked like he might be wondering how much he could fit in his pockets for later.

On the other side Ruby seemed to be having a quiet conversation with Mulan. "So where do you think they've brought all this in from? Because Granny could have done with the business. I thought the point was to help out the local economy."

Killian turned to Emma, who was now clutching a takeaway coffee cup in both hands, her shoulders hunched forward and her eyes on the ground. He felt oddly exposed, despite the crowds of people hurrying about around them. The other teams...couples, whatever it was you wanted to call them, they'd escaped into their little bubbles of togetherness, buoyed up by shared histories and in-jokes and all the things that built the bond that he and Emma just didn't have.

They probably never would, but it didn't stop Killian feeling a sharp pang of longing all the same, which just made him feel frustrated and even more alone. The whole point of this bloody stupid show was to make him forget his troubles, forget what he'd lost, and just keep him too busy to wallow in his own misery. But so far all he'd managed to achieve was a lot of standing around and a fraught relationship with a woman who may, or may not, stab him in the eye if he dared to bump her hairbrush off the bathroom sink.

Next stop on the interminable tour of deathly boredom was the person in charge of the sound, who gave them a run-down on the microphones they'd be fitted with. "So just remember," he warned, "Whenever you're wearing them, we're recording you whether the camera's there or not. We've had some...uh...incidents, you might say, with previous competitors forgetting they had them on. So just be careful, OK?"

"What he means, Swan," Killian whispered, leaning as close as he dared to Emma. "Is that you'll have to watch the dirty talk." Her only response was a small smile, and Killian went back to silently cursing himself for his inability to fix the situation they were in.

So much for the early start. The day dragged on and on as they were forced to listen to more people explaining how everything was supposed to work. And there was the promise of more to come; once the house had been assigned, then there'd be meetings with architects and contractors, mostly off-screen, in order to decide on how the renovations would be carried out.

By lunchtime Killian was starting to wish that he had done a runner the night before, but when they were sent back to the craft services table, which had been miraculously refilled by a tribe of unseen pixies since they were last there, he trudged along with the group and took his place next to Emma, if only because he was determined to keep his promise for her.

He'd said he was in this for the long-haul and if nothing else he was going to be true to his word.

"You know maybe it won't be so bad," Killian mused, picking up, what he hoped was, a vaguely edible crab puff and adding it to the paper plate he'd been handed. "At least there's food."

"I've been in worse places," Emma replied, her own plate piled high now and in danger of spilling its contents back onto the table in front of them. "We just have to keep it together, and remember that Henry is counting on us." She gave him a serious look, but then turned back to the table, picking up a mini quiche and carefully balancing it on top of the pile on her plate.

"Yes...quite," Killian agreed, his voice sounding oddly formal. He didn't even know if Emma was aware of the fact she'd used the word 'us' in that sentence, had no way of telling if it meant anything to her at all or if she was just trying to remind him that he'd committed to this and couldn't back out now.

And he most certainly had no intention of letting on just how much he wished they were an 'us'.

After lunch, things seemed to be getting underway. Or, at least, they were summarily rounded up by August before Emma had quite finished her food, which left Killian worried that she'd choke to death on the last piece of sushi which she shoved whole into her mouth.

But there wasn't any time to contemplate whether or not he'd be able to do the Heimlich manoeuvre on Emma before she punched him in the face because, after a morning that had felt like sleep-walking, the afternoon looked set to be nothing but action.

First, they were herded towards a cordoned off area of Main Street, lined with a few curious bystanders and now occupied by all the various running people that Killian had been introduced to earlier in the day. They were still running around but now in ever more frantic circles and with even larger takeout cups clutched in their hands.

Everyone had mics attached to them. They were like weird rubber necklaces and they immediately made Killian itchy. Then some bloke called Robin, who was, it turned out, the director, explained that the game was about to begin and they were to take their places in front of some sort of makeshift podium. And then they waited, standing in a row like a bunch of school kids hanging around at an assembly while the headmaster hid in his office.

Eventually Arthur appeared, but only to confer with Robin, and then he disappeared again while Robin explained that they'd shoot their official welcome and explanation of the first task, but that they'd possibly have to do something called 'pick-up' shots afterwards.

Killian snuck a glance at Emma, who was frowning in concentration and leaning forward a little, looking as though she was anxious not to miss anything. At some time during the lunch break she'd removed the bulky sweatshirt she'd started the day in and was now just wearing one of those tank-tops people wore to work out in, the kind that clung to the body and showed a lot of skin. He felt like he shouldn't be examining the number of freckles on Emma's shoulder quite so thoroughly, but at the same time couldn't tear his eyes away.

It was only when that wanker Arthur appeared on the podium that he did turn his head, ready for something, _anything_ , to focus on that wasn't Emma. Bloody stupid really; now he needed a distraction from the person who was supposed to have been his distraction in the first place. He felt a little anxious and jittery, like he'd had too many cups of coffee and was now paying the price.

And then Arthur started up and he tried to pay attention.

"Welcome everyone, to this the brand-new season of _Our New Home_ , this time coming to you from the charming town of Storybrooke, Maine. Over the next six weeks you'll spend time with our contestants as they work together with the person they love to make a home for themselves, testing both their skill at renovations and their ability to work as a team. At the end of it one lucky pair will walk away with their dream home, while the others will see if their renovations have done enough to improve the property values and earn them the cash they need for a brighter future."

There was a pause and then Arthur turned to Robin, who was standing behind a TV screen off to the side. "Can we do that again? Sun's really getting to me, and I was squinting through most of it."

Robin sighed, quite audibly. "Can we get some shade over there, please?" he called out, pointing, and there was a flurry of activity behind them.

"OK," Robin said, when it was calm again. "When you're ready, mate."

The next time Arthur paused to debate whether charming was a naff choice of word. After that he forgot the part about working as a team and stopped part-way through. Then he needed some water. Next he asked whether it was odd to use the word renovations twice, and finally, after getting through the whole speech he decided he might try it again but with more emphasis on the word love.

Killian gave up counting and just tried to prepare for the task ahead. At some point, during the period of time between the interview with August and the actual confirmation they were going on the show, he'd watched a few episodes of _Our New House_. Not that he'd ever confess that to Emma, which perhaps had more to do with the fact he'd been searching for clips on YouTube as a way to distract himself from the text messages she wasn't returning, than any actual embarrassment about wanting to be prepared.

But at least he knew that whatever they were in for probably involved running. He was fine with that. Hopefully there wouldn't be anything that required one of them to be blindfolded. That might be a little trickier, given those tasks were all about communication. Even harder still would be the ones that required the use of two fully-functioning hands to perform some kind of test of manual dexterity. So Killian stood still, stared at the tables laid out in front of them and hoped to God that all he had to do was run hell for leather in whichever direction they pointed him.

Eventually Arthur shut up, if only for long enough for Robin to come over, run them through what the rules of the task were going to be, and then Arthur started up again, explaining everything to them as though they were idiots while a few people with cameras strapped to their shoulders shuffled past them trying to film reactions. It was a little like being in a herd of buffalo while the lions circled, trying to pick out the weakest ones. Killian might have been tempted to make a run for it if he'd had any way of communicating to Emma that they should get the hell out of there, but she was wearing her most serious look of concentration and wasn't paying any attention to Killian at all.

Which just served to prove his point that the whole blindfold thing would have been a disaster.

Long before the third time Arthur went over the rules of the task, Killian had a fairly good idea of what was required; complete one of the puzzles set out on the table, run to the location shown on said puzzle, find something that would help them locate one of three vehicles, each of which had a map to a house. Whichever house you found was then your team's to renovate. First team to a house got a prize, the usefulness of which depended on how much you believed the hyperbole Arthur was paid to spew forth.

It seemed fairly straightforward, but the wildcard was, of course, Emma. More to the point he couldn't just abandon her as dead weight part way through.

Not that he seriously would, mind. But he liked winning, would hardly have been sailing competitively if he hadn't, and this felt like something he very much needed to win. If only to prove to Emma, and himself, that all those promises he'd made weren't a load of old bollocks.

Of course the most pressing problem was whether or not they could convincingly play couple number three under the watchful eye of someone recording their every move. Robin had explained that each couple would have a camera person and a sound person assigned to capture their race and warned them not to get in the car and drive off without them. "Otherwise you'll all have to start the whole bloody thing again, and the rest of us have lives to get back to."

Immediately after they were mentioned, Killian watched as a bloke with a camera and woman carrying a microphone and a bag over her shoulder stepped out of the shadows and stood near Emma and himself, as other members of the crew did the same to the other teams. It was a little creepy, to be honest.

Then everyone was instructed to move up and stand in front of the table and Arthur began a loud countdown, while Killian wondered how many takes he'd need to get to the part where he actually said 'go!'.

Only this time there was no discussion or re-takes, just everyone scrambling forward to uncover the elusive puzzles, which were really just a bunch of pieces of wood with some kind of photo glued on. Killian let Emma start moving them around, trying to figure out how they fit together, but the picture didn't mean much; it was black and white, most of the detail bleached out by the lack of colour and one grey square probably looked about as different as every other grey square.

Until it didn't, and Killian caught sight of something that looked familiar in the grey lines and blobs. Emma was still frantically moving the pieces around, trying to make sense of it all and, when Killian took a quick glance to the side, so were both of the other couples.

If they wanted an advantage, this might be it. After a quick calculation of the risk versus reward factor, Killian nudged Emma in her side with his elbow. She jumped and turned quickly, the annoyance plain on her face "What?"

Killian looked around quickly, even though he knew it unlikely any of the other teams could hear them. "I know where this is," he hissed.

"What?"

"That." He quickly pointed to the black squiggles currently sitting in the top right corner of the board. "I've seen it."

"So…?" Now Emma looked around. "We just go now?"

Killian nodded, and then quietly started shuffling away from the table. He heard Arthur saying "Looks like the first couple are off!" but was really more concerned with whether or not Emma was following as she'd seemed dubious about the whole decision.

But when he turned around she was right behind him, although right behind her was the bloke with the camera and his offsider with the mic, which kind of ruined the whole stealth thing. And they certainly didn't have time to discuss whether this was the right move or not. Instead Killian started making his way down Main Street re-tracing the path he'd taken the night before, keeping the pace to a slow jog and feeling like the Pied Piper with both Emma and the crew members following him.

It made him appreciate the fact that, in yacht racing, any cameras were far off in the distance and not intrusively pointed at you as you tried to remember whether or not you'd turned left or right the previous night.

"You know where you're going, right?" Emma asked him, and he really could have done without the question right then.

"Yeah, no...I just need to get my bearings."

Emma huffed audibly. "We should have stayed and finished. I bet the others have left now, and we don't even know where we're going."

"No. No, I do know," Killian said, through gritted teeth. He desperately didn't want their first appearance on the show to be an all-out brawl on the street but he felt a great tide of tension, one he'd been trying to push away all through the long and boring hours they'd been shuffled around, ready to burst out of him if he let it.

But he wouldn't. He was stronger than that.

"Well, are you sure? Because nothing around here looks like anything on that picture. And the other teams aren't here."

"Perhaps their pictures were different, love." Right. It was definitely a right...then past the sign for the seafood market and…

"But what if they weren't? What if we've just gone off half-cocked because you wanted to win so badly and now we're going to be last?"

He meant to hold his tongue against all provocation, he really did, but somehow his next words, in all their biting glory, just slipped out. "Look, why don't you try something new, darling. It's called trust."

There was a long moment of silence while Killian and Emma glared at each and both tried to pretend that there wasn't a camera pointed at them, and then Emma backed down. "Fine! Whatever. Let's just go, OK?"

He had a better idea now, anyway, of exactly where he was going and it was just a short run now straight through to their final destination. When the faded letters on the side on the building he'd seen last night came into view, he stopped short and pointed. "There."

"Seriously? You think that's what the picture was of?"

"Aye. It was definitely the cannery. You could see part of the curve of the C in the piece you were moving around."

Emma looked at him dubiously. "But...like...the rest of it was just some old boards. Every other building here is a bunch of crummy old boards. How do you know it's that one?"

"I just do. And now we're here, shall we look?"

"I guess so." Emma sounded less than thrilled with the prospect

Killian led the way into the gloom of the building's interior, hoping that it wasn't in a complete state of disrepair, but the place seemed clean and mostly empty. Which brought up a whole new problem. Now they were actually here, what on earth were they meant to do?

"There!" Emma called out, excitedly, pointing at something in the corner of the space. Closer inspection showed it to be a large card, emblazoned with the show's logo on the front and, when Emma flipped it over, writing on the other side.

Killian read it over Emma's shoulder and was trying to make sense of the thing when he noticed some movement from the cameraperson who was pointing at the card in Emma's hands and miming something about a duck quacking.

Emma was clearly better at interpreting the odd hand-motions though, and gave a small nod before she started to read the card out aloud. " _Search in here for the thing that you need, then take it when you set forth. Make your way with great speed, and head due north."_

"So...OK," Emma said. "Which way's north?"

"Hang on, love. We're supposed to find something first."

Emma frowned. "But it says which way we should go...so, let's not hang around. You can work out north, right?"

Killian felt a little put on the spot at that. Yes, possibly he could. But he felt like continuing on now would just be asking for trouble.

"It's not the way it works," he explained. "You have to do all the steps...I've seen teams try to skip over a few, but it always comes back to bite them in the arse in the end."

Emma narrowed her eyes. "Wait. When did you see this? Do you watch this show?"

The tone of her accusation suggested that Killian had been doing something shameful and, while he hadn't been prepared to confess to his program of self-directed study, he still didn't think that Emma should be quite so dismissive of the show when they were on camera. He tried to alert her to that fact with a tip of the head towards the ever-circling camera person, but all he got in response was "Huh?"

"Let's just...shall we get on with the search?"

"Yeah. I guess." Emma was still eyeing him suspiciously, so he walked off and started poking around in the corner of the space. For the most part he found only dust and a few impressively sized spider's webs.

"Do we even know what we're looking for?" Emma called out, pulling some crates out from a wall.

"No. But I assume we'll know it when we find it."

"We better," Emma muttered, coughing as a cloud of dust billowed around her.

Killian kept searching, moving a tarpaulin that was piled in a corner and hoping he wasn't disturbing a rat's nest in the process. He moved a few boxes and then found an old stool to stand on so he could check the top of some shelves in case something had been tucked away up there.

But there was nothing. And Emma was getting frustrated now. "I think we should just go," she said. "We know the direction and we don't want everyone else to pass us. What if they're somewhere else and have found their stuff?"

"No. We need to keep searching."

By this time Emma had moved closer to where Killian had been looking, and was standing with her hands on her hips surveying the area. It didn't seem very productive to Killian, who was determined to just keep looking, and he went back to opening the drawers of a very dusty desk.

"Hey, I've checked that!" Emma said, indignantly.

"I know...but we must have missed something."

"Well, maybe I didn't. Maybe it was you." She pushed one of the boxes Killian had looked into earlier with her foot and its contents rattled. "You checked this, right?"

"Of course I did; it's just some cans."

Emma lifted the flaps of the box. "But did you check the cans themselves?"

"Why? You fancy beans on toast right at this moment?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "It is a cannery. It would make sense to put something in one of them."

Killian tried to think of a way to dispute her theory and save his own pride. But, bugger it all to hell, she was probably right.

"All right, then. Let's check the bloody cans." He knelt down next to Emma on the greasy concrete floor and started pulling cans out of the box, shaking each one in turn. None of them were labelled and most of them felt like they were empty.

Emma was doing the same, and for a moment he thought that they might get through all the cans without having found anything, but the he noticed that there was a rattling sound coming from the one he was holding.

"That's it!" Emma said, pointing to the can and nearly knocking it out of his hand in the process. Killian tugged on the ring-pull on the top of the can and peeled back the lid, before tipping it upside down. A compass fell into his palm and he showed it to Emma.

"Seriously? That's it?"

"A moment ago you were quite gleeful about finding it. What happened, love?"

"A moment ago I didn't know it was just an old watch. How's that supposed to help us?"

"Because it's actually a compass."

"Oh."

There was a moment of silence as they both became acutely aware of how close that bloody cameraperson was to them, and were suddenly self-conscious. Killian couldn't imagine that this was exactly making for riveting viewing, but he suspected there was a lot that was going to be cut out in the editing room.

He just hoped they didn't lose any of the important stuff, like the fact he was the one who actually knew it was a compass.

"Shall we give it a test, then?" he said, standing up and holding the compass in his palm.

"Sure, yeah." Emma stood as well. "You know what you're doing with that thing, right?"

Killian didn't even bother answering that question. "That way!" he said, pointing...straight at a wall of the building.

"Maybe we're supposed to do it outside?" Emma suggested, and they trudged out the door and onto the wharf again. Killian was tempted to tell the cameraperson he could just rewind over that last part as they were going to do it again, but he suspected that wasn't how these cameras worked.

"Right. Now...that way!" he said again, once the needle on the compass had stilled and he could lead them in the direction they were supposed to go. Emma had been right, most likely he could have worked it out without the compass, from the fact that the bloody wharf meant most options would lead them into the water if nothing else. But rules were rules, and he didn't want to arrive at the finish line only to be disqualified for not following some point of procedure.

If Killian knew anything, he knew how races worked. That being first was only half the battle, and that without teamwork, the right equipment and a strict adherence to every bloody minor rule they threw at you, you wouldn't even get that far.

He'd perhaps forgotten what it felt like, the heady rush of competition. But now the idea of a victory was in his sight and it made him feel almost as though he was being brought back from...well, not the dead. That was a tad melodramatic. But it was an awakening nonetheless, a rebirth of something he'd been trying to ignore since the accident….

He was broken out of his reverie by the sound of Emma's trainers hitting the wooden slats of the wharf with increased speed. "There! There!" she yelled, even though he could see exactly what she was pointing at. It was hard to miss an enormous, bright red 4-wheel drive parked in between two rundown warehouses.

"There's something on the windscreen!" Emma said, excitedly, and he wondered for a moment if her comments were actually for his benefit or if she felt the need to narrate the proceedings for their unseen audience. He would have liked to stop and ask her, perhaps discuss their strategy on the matter, but time was ticking by.

Emma seemed to feel the same way, as her sentences were now brief to the point of being almost nonsensical. She pulled the paper out from behind the windscreen wiper and simply said "Map...yours," before she hit him in the chest with it.

"Mine?"

"You said...yesterday. You're good with maps...so now's your chance. I'll drive, you navigate. OK?"

"Right, yes." Killian started unfolding the map at the same time as he stepped towards the car door, only Emma appeared at his shoulder before he could climb inside.

"No, I'm driving," she said, in a voice that suggested he'd done something particularly irritating.

"Yes, I know."

"Then why are you trying to get in the driver's side?"

"Oh, bloody buggering bollocks!" Killian started moving to the other side of the car, wondering how all this was going to look on TV. He caught the eye of the cameraperson who appeared to be sniggering quietly to himself, which was just bloody marvellous. "It's not my fault, you know, that you have to be different in this country and you can't just drive on the left like normal people."

He climbed in the car beside Emma and heard the back door open and close as the camera and sound people joined them.

"Maybe it's you guys that are the odd ones and we're actually correct?"

Killian decided to ignore that remark in favour of actually giving Emma directions. Reading the map wasn't a particularly difficult task; there was a red line drawn to show which streets they had to take but, given that Storybrooke wasn't the largest town, they could have taken several wrong turns and still not have encountered too many problems, as most of the town was laid out in a grid pattern, and everything seemed to lead either down to the docks or to Main Street.

In some ways Killian wished his task was a little more taxing than just saying ' _make the next right_ ' over and over again, while Emma took the corners a little too fast for comfort and the cameraperson kept shoving the bloody camera between the seats. There just wasn't anything tactical involved in what they were doing, and no way of knowing where the other teams were. He missed being able to look across the course and see the sails of the other yachts. This was like sailing blindfolded, and possibly in circles, and he didn't like it one bit.

Until, that was, they drove towards the point on the map where the red felt-tipped line he'd been following abruptly stopped and he could see the huge melee of other vehicles and people, some of whom had cameras like the one currently stuck into his shoulder.

"There?" Emma asked, as she stubbornly refused to brake and nearly sent one of the interminable camera people flying through the air.

"That looks like it," Killian said, eyeing the house whose once-white picket fence was festooned with red balloons.

Emma stopped the car abruptly, and was out of it and running before Killian had even had a chance to undo his seatbelt completely. Scrambling to catch up with her, they saw Arthur standing up ahead beaming at them and it almost made Killian want to run in the other direction.

When he'd said he was in this for the long haul he hadn't really thought about the possibility of dealing with that smiling plonker on a daily basis. There were limits.

But Emma had no such reservations, and she surged ahead of him, which possibly wasn't a great look for their team, but certainly spoke volumes about her own desire to win. She reached the little mat in front of Arthur first, joined after a moment by Killian, who realised he was still clutching the bloody map but didn't have anywhere to now shove it. He considered just tossing it to one side, but the camera people were circling now, like predators, and he didn't fancy being caught littering the footpath.

So instead he stood awkwardly, really not sure what to do with his hands, while Emma bounced a little on the balls of her feet next to him.

"Emma and Killian," Arthur intoned, like he was delivering a sermon from on high. "I'm proud to say that you, our newest Red Team have won this challenge and located your new home before either of the other teams. Because of that you'll receive an extra prize pack to help you get started. In the meantime, here is the key to your new home." Arthur held out a key with a great deal of flourish, and presented it to Emma.

It was unexpectedly good news and Killian felt a sudden burst of elation. It felt good to have actually won after the long hours of waiting around for the bloody event to start. Without thinking he turned to Emma and wrapped his arms around her.

It was only after he'd done it, that Killian realised the awkwardness of what he'd done. Emma went from smiling and bouncing on her toes to stiff as a board. He immediately dropped his arms and stepped back.

A part of his brain told him that his actions weren't that different to the celebrations on board the boats when he'd been racing. The Italians on the team had been a demonstrative lot and there'd been the odd pat on the back or even a hug on occasion when they'd had to fight down the final leg in order to cross first.

But it wasn't really the same at all. Because this wasn't a yacht, and this was Emma.

Arthur, who had dropped the benevolent priest act, called out "Was that all right?"

Killian turned to where the director, that Robin bloke, was standing. "Yeah, not bad. Can you guys just try that again...but with a bit more, you know?"

"What?" Emma asked quickly.

"A bit more celebrating...because you won. So feel free to kiss or...Killian, you might want to pick Emma up, or something? Just a suggestion. It's a big moment, and the audience want to share it with you."

Killian nodded, feeling a little stunned by being quite so thoroughly choreographed. It was one thing when he was grabbing Emma of his own volition, this was just horribly awkward and he could see from the way she was bracing herself that she wasn't exactly thrilled by the whole thing, either.

"Do I have to do my bit again, or did I nail it?" Arthur called out.

"Good enough, mate. And we'll have to get over to the other houses in a moment. I just want a bit more Emma and Killian and then we'll move on."

Robin gave them a nod. "All right. When you're ready, let's see some celebrations!"

Put on the spot Killian froze completely. How on earth could there be a bit more Emma and Killian when there wasn't any bloody Emma-and-Killian to begin with? They'd spent all morning barely talking to each other and now, simply because they'd read a map correctly, they were suddenly supposed to be the epitome of the happy couple.

The moment had passed, and Killian wasn't sure he felt like celebrating any longer. At least not for anyone else's benefit.

But while he was debating the ethics of being nothing more than a puppet to whatever omniscient being ruled over reality programming, Emma had other ideas. Robin waved his hands in a 'go-on' motion, and she suddenly pounced, there was no other way to describe it. One minute Killian was standing there, still with the bloody map in his hand, wondering whether he would risk hugging Emma again and the next she had grabbed his shirt and hauled him towards her, her mouth crashing against his.

It took him a moment to sort out all the competing sensations and thoughts and really focus on what was happening. Because Emma was kissing him, and her mouth was soft against his, her body tantalisingly close, but not close enough. Killian could smell her shampoo - although maybe that was because he had used it himself. Still, it was all a little intoxicating either way, and when Emma dropped her hands and stepped back he was certain he stood there, blinking like a moon-faced teenage boy and not really even caring that the cameras were still filming his blank stare.

"Was that OK?" Emma called to Robin, and Killian came back to reality with a crash. All for show, wasn't it? He was just here to be a part of Emma's story, after all.

"Perfect," Robin called back, giving her a thumbs up as he got up out of the deckchair he'd been sitting in. "You really sold that one. Everyone loves a winner, though. Well done you guys...and I'll leave so you can do some filming around the house, yeah?"

Half of the crew who'd been standing around in the street started to gather up their equipment and shuffle off, presumably to one or both of the other teams.

Emma turned to him, still looking happy. "Well, that was quite something, huh?" she asked, digging him in the side with her elbow.

"Yep. Sure was, love." He got the feeling they were talking about completely different things.

* * *

 

Even for Emma, who had experienced more than her fair share of overwhelming and confusing days in her lifetime, this was a day she wouldn't forget in a hurry. The time they'd spent being introduced to the huge number of people who ran the show had reminded Emma of every time she'd entered a group home, the other kids watching her suspiciously while she tried desperately to remember a new set of names and faces and hope she didn't accidentally offend a Josh by calling him John instead.

And, although logically she knew that she couldn't possibly be expected to remember the names of every production assistant involved in the whole show, it felt like she should try. It felt like something the people with binders of decorating ideas would do, and, despite the fact it had been years since she'd had to start over in a new home with new people, Emma couldn't quite shake that desperate need to prove herself.

It made her unable to really pay much attention to Killian, and that just made her feel all the worse. She'd wanted them to be a team and yet, here she was, so anxious to impress all the random strangers that she couldn't help but be a bad teammate.

And she'd doubted Killian all the way through the task, almost as much as she'd been doubting herself. They were the team that didn't deserve to win.

Somehow, though, they had. They'd actually won and whether it was because Emma had insisted on checking each can or because Killian had recognised a tiny image on a jigsaw puzzle didn't matter anymore. Because they were a team.

Or, at least, Emma felt that they were for the brief moments they'd stood in front of that Arthur guy while he'd announced them the winners of the challenge, a little like he was knighting them or something, the way he'd intoned the words 'Emma and Killian' as he said it.

Still, she would take the win because, although her reason for entering the show might not be strictly to win the whole thing, Emma loved winning. It happened all too rarely in her life but when it did, it made for the best moments, all hers and which nobody, not even other foster-kids with post-nasal drips and a weird collection of rocks they were jealously guarding under their bunk bed mattresses, not even those kids could make her feel bad about herself if she was a winner.

Which was all great, until she'd gone and kissed Killian and felt less like a winner and more like a big fat liar who had no business being here all over again. That guy Robin, the one who was calling all the shots had told her to jump and she hadn't even bothered to ask how high, she'd just dived straight in, as eager to please as she ever had been.

God she was a mess. And she was tired, and a little emotional, and embarrassed because Killian had managed to look positively horrified after she'd kissed him, standing there with a crumpled map in his hand.

The worst part was that now everyone else was ignoring them. They'd put on the required show and now most of the crew were on to the next couple, leaving Emma and Killian standing there, eyeing each other warily.

"So," Killian ventured. "This is our dream home, huh?"

"Yeah...looks a little like a nightmare to be honest," Emma replied. The place had something that looked like a turret for God's sake, and was practically falling down.

From further down the street she could hear Arthur intoning solemnly "Ruby and Mulan, you are the second team to find your dream home…" followed by him saying, in a completely different voice, "I'm sorry...is it Mu- _larn_ or Mu- _lan_? Am I getting it right?"

"You guys ready?" their camera person said suddenly, appearing beside Killian.

"For...what?" Emma asked.

They guy rolled his eyes. "To do the walk-through. You look through the house, poke around a bit, I film it. We need to get quite a bit of footage so they can cut it later on."

There didn't seem to be any point in arguing with the guy, so they trudged towards the house where Emma put the key in the lock and pushed open the door gingerly.

Stepping inside she looked around the room they were in which had probably once been quite nice but now was old and tired and possibly had things nesting in the corner if that scuttling was anything to go by.

"Um…" she tried, casting around for some kind of comment to make. She'd been struggling with the camera being on her all afternoon; it turned her into some kind of weird game show host or something, narrating everything that was going on. But this time, she had nothing. It was starting to sink in that she was utterly out of her depth. Why on earth had she ever thought that she could renovate a house?

"It probably has good bones," Killian announced loudly, poking the wood around the window frame. Half his hand promptly disappeared into the soft wood. "Oh, bugger that!"

The camera person started laughing which just made the whole thing worse.

"Sorry. Sorry, guys," he said, lifting the camera off his shoulder. "It's just this bit always gets me...all that going on about a dream home, and then they give you a big pile of crap."

"Yeah…" Killian said, slowly extracting his hand. "It's not that bad, though, is it?"

"You should see the bathroom," the camera guy replied.

Killian pressed his lips together and looked like he didn't dare say anything else. Emma, who was still stuck feeling alternately guilty for having dragged him into this and inadequately prepared for the task, decided to change the subject.

"So...uh, what was your name again?"

The guy smiled, and not just with his mouth. It was like his whole face was smiling. Clearly he was one of the world's naturally smiley people. Emma was pretty sure she tended more to the naturally scowly. Killian...well, the jury was still out on Killian.

"Call me Merlin," the camera person said. "Sorry, I would have introduced myself earlier, but Arthur goes on and on and then you guys were off and running and I barely had a chance to catch my breath. And this is Nimue." He pointed at the woman with the microphone, who simply raised a hand.

Emma couldn't think how to carry on the conversation, and they stood awkwardly for a moment. "Well," Merlin said, eventually. "I'm going to go and crouch in the bathroom so I can get a good shot of your faces when you both see the loo in there."

"Oh, OK."

Merlin was right about the state of the bathroom, it was grimy, with cracked tiles and a bathtub that looked at least 100 years old. Emma looked around in silent horror and Killian seemed to be keeping his hands very much to himself now. She wasn't certain if this was exactly the footage Merlin had been hoping to capture, but it would have to do.

They wandered through all the other rooms in turn. In the kitchen Emma asked Killian if he thought the oven actually worked.

"Once, perhaps. Back when the pilgrims were recently arrived."

The bedrooms upstairs were a little better, although all of them seemed dusty and unused and there were missing closet doors in two of them and one had a collection of old drawers, but not the bureau they must have once belonged to.

It was a little depressing to be honest. After the elation of winning the challenge now they were stuck looking around an abandoned property trying to work out how on earth it could be turned into a habitable space, let alone a dream home.

The final room they went into was the master bedroom. It had the same air of disuse as all the other bedrooms in the house but the thing that made Emma pause was the pile of belongings sitting in the middle of the bare, wood floor. Familiar belongings, her own bag placed at the front, with Killian's behind.

"What...uh? That's our stuff," she said, a little dumbly.

Killian gave her a weird look, which, she supposed, was preferable to the angry look he'd sported after the kiss. "Well we live here now," Killian said. "I mean...if we win the whole thing we will. This is like a kind of...trial period."

"Oh." She wasn't certain if she really wanted to trial living in an abandoned building. It felt a little too like being homeless, which felt a little too familiar.

"It'll be like camping," Killian said. "Look, they've even left us an air-bed."

"Have they?"

"Yes. You'll have to be on your best behaviour though, love. No more throwing yourself at me like you did downstairs. We don't want to burst it on the first night."

Emma gave him a sceptical look, but secretly felt a little better. If he was back to the joking around then he was over being mad about the kiss, right?

"Yeah, you wish buddy."

"Maybe I do?" Killian replied, in a voice that almost sounded as though he was he wasn't kidding around. But then he gave her a wink, or something that approximated one anyway, and she realised she was reading far too much into it.

Of course he was just playing up for the camera beside them. Why would he be any different to her?

"OK, that's great guys." Merlin lifted the camera off his shoulder. "I'll let you two have a proper look around while I wait downstairs for the prize to arrive. Shouldn't be too long. When you hear the knock just come down and open the front door like I'm not there, OK?"

Emma nodded and Killian murmured a yes and then Merlin and Nimue left them standing together in a dusty room with their possessions stacked in front of them.

"Just like old times, I guess," Killian said, and Emma felt herself stiffen immediately because it was, but she didn't think it was that obvious that she'd spent so much of her life drifting around with one bag to her name, sleeping in her car and honestly, during those times, an air-bed would have been a welcome relief.

"I meant," Killian continued, looking at her a little strangely. "That it's not that long ago that I was living out of a suitcase, although the air-bed is a new touch. Probably better than Liam's couch though."

"Probably better than the mattresses at Granny's," Emma added, and Killian laughed along with her, making her feel a little better. It might be awkward, this whole pretending to be a couple thing, but mostly she was glad he was here.

And she was glad they'd won, she'd enjoyed that. And she'd enjoyed kissing him...and, no. That was just a train of thought she shouldn't jump on because she couldn't possibly be attracted to the man she was pretending to be engaged to, the man she was going to have to share an air-bed with.

That was just another worrying thought. There wasn't another stick of furniture in the place so someone was going to end up on the floor.

Killian had started poking around the pile of stuff, pulling out a pump for the air-bed and a couple of sleeping bags, when they heard a loud knock downstairs.

"Right. Looks like we're on again, love. Ready?"

Emma nodded, and then followed Killian down the wide staircase, which at least, seemed to be in reasonably good repair. Near the front door Merlin was already stationed with the camera pointing at them, with Nimue off to the side, and Emma prepared herself for what might be behind the door.

She just hoped it wasn't something that was going to require more kissing reactions.

Killian stood back to let Emma open the door, possibly because he'd guessed it would be Arthur on the other side and he was fed up with the guy already. Emma certainly was, but she plastered on her best 'gosh I'm having so much fun on this show' face, or, at least, what she thought counted for that, and waited to hear what he was going to say.

"Emma and Killian," Arthur began, in that weird way he had of making their names seem like a separate entity. "As winners of our first challenge you've won a fantastic prize pack, all donated by our sponsors. Something that'll make it easier to dress your home when the time comes, and certainly something that will make your first night in your new home a great deal more comfortable. Ready to see what it is?"

Emma nodded, wondering if this guy had ever presented children's TV.

"All right, lads. Bring it in!" Arthur made a big show of standing aside so that several large men in identical overalls could squeeze through the door carrying...wait, was that a bed?

"Really?" Emma asked, but Arthur ignored her, in favour of carrying on with his spiel.

"You have won this beautiful Queen bed, mattress and bedding package worth more than $1500, provided to you by Pea in the Pod Bedding and More, Storybrooke's premier bedding location."

And then, almost without missing a beat, Arthur looked over his shoulder and changing tone, added, "That was all right, yeah? I got it?" Emma was getting whiplash from the way they seemed to keep switching into the show and then back to reality. She wondered if it was always going to be like this.

"You got it, mate," someone, possibly Robin, called out. Emma couldn't currently see much of anything, her view blocked by the pieces of the bed being carried through the door.

Arthur changed back into host mode and turned to face them again. "Well done again, Emma and Killian...or Red Team as you are now. Get some rest as tomorrow brings a whole new set of challenges. Sweet dreams."

With that he gave them a regal nod and disappeared, as the last of the overall wearing people brought in a pile of bedding.

Emma looked over at Merlin, waiting for instructions on what was supposed to happen next. "OK guys, you can relax now, settle in. I'll be back about nine to film the bed."

"You want to film the bed when it's made up?" Killian asked, as there was a timely thud from upstairs as one of the people putting it together dropped something.

"Yeah...but more you guys getting into it."

"Getting into the bed?" Emma asked, slowly, like she was deciphering another language.

"Well, yeah. Nothing risqué or anything." Merlin chuckled a little. "I mean, you can't burst this one or anything but all we really want is a bit of you getting in, saying what a great bonus it was to win it...maybe some stuff about how lucky you are compared to the other teams. I don't know. August said that's what he wants...he thought you guys would give us some good stuff."

Emma wasn't certain whether or not to be offended that August thought that gloating over their winnings was part of their skill set. But she pushed any concerns on that front aside in favour of facing the most pressing problem.

She was supposed to be sleeping in the same bed as Killian.

"Do they really need to put that in the show?" Killian asked.

Merlin shrugged. "I don't ask stuff like that, I just film what I'm told to. Maybe they'll cut it later on or something, but for now, we're filming bedtime, OK? Just make sure you have some decent pyjamas on. See you at nine!"

He left and Emma and Killian were completely on their own for the first time since that morning. Well, apart from the people upstairs who were currently building the bed the two of them were supposed to be looking forward to sharing.

Emma stared blankly at the closed front door for a moment before slowly removing the microphone from round her neck and placing it on the mantelpiece. Killian put his on the scratched table beside the window.

"So, uh...this is our house, huh?" Killian said, taking one step towards her and then stopping suddenly when he thought better of it.

"I guess, I mean...it's not at all what I expected."

"That's an understatement. For one thing, I was expecting a decent amount of structural integrity. Sticking my bloody fingers through a window sill doesn't seem to bode well. The bed's all very well, but we might be crawling underneath it tonight while the ceiling falls down on our heads."

He sounded a little too pessimistic for Emma's liking, which only made her realise that she was starting to rely on Killian to be the voice of hope in this enterprise. And relying on people was a dangerous game.

"What are you? Chicken Little?" she snapped back.

"No, but I'm a realist love. This is a huge enterprise and we're...I mean...it's going to be...well we hardly knew, did we?" Killian was stumbling over his words now, but Emma thought she could pick up the thread of where he was going with them.

"You think that because we're barely a team we'll fail."

"No. Now I never said that, Emma. But you have to admit, they've suckered us in somewhat and lumbered us with this monstrosity…"

"Like you got lumbered with me?" Emma interjected.

Killian frowned. "That's not what I meant at all. I chose you...this...didn't I?"

Emma shrugged. "There was candy involved."

"Aye. But all the Minstrels in the world wouldn't have convinced me to do this if I didn't want to. That was you, Emma."

Emma studied his face. Killian sounded sincere, his eyes - such a dark blue in this light - were wide and he was just standing there now, waiting for a response. She felt the hot, prick of tears behind her eyes which was simply a ridiculous way to react to being told nice things.

But that was Emma all over. She was wired wrong from head to foot.

"But Emma," he continued, softly. "Now that we're really doing this, then it's all us against them from here on in. We're a team and so...just...no more shutting me out, OK?"

She hadn't realised he'd been that hurt by her behaviour earlier in the day, and she felt ashamed of herself. "Right. Yeah, of course. No I get it, I mean, I don't talk for half the day and then I throw myself at you. I will try and do better from now on. Thanks, uh...thanks for putting up with me so far."

Emma turned on her heel and climbed the stairs, pretending she really wanted to see what the people building the bed were up to. Instead she wandered into one of the empty bedrooms and stared out the window.

The sky darkened and Emma heard the sounds of heavy boots on the stairs as the people who'd brought the bed left. Killian's voice drifted up through the empty house, but she couldn't make out what he was saying, and then she heard his footsteps on the stairs and down the empty hallway towards the room she was hiding in. Outside the door he paused, but he didn't come in, instead continuing on to the master bedroom.

Emma stayed put, even when she heard Killian head back downstairs again. She knew she was being ridiculous, but somehow she'd fallen into an even older habit; once the whole getting to know everyone part was done, once the eager to please Emma had come out and failed again, then this was always her last resort. Find a quiet space and lock herself away, like she was a princess in a tower or something.

Eventually there was another set of footsteps followed by a quiet knock on the door. "Emma?" Killian called and, reluctantly, she went out to face him.

"I just thought...you might like some food?" Killian said, hopefully, and Emma nodded and then followed him back down the stairs. The living room was now lit by two small gas-lamps, which sent pools of warm light over a tarpaulin that had been laid across the dusty, bare floorboards. Sitting on top of the tarpaulin were some takeout bags and a bottle of wine.

Emma looked around suspiciously for Merlin and Nimue. "So, did August set this up?" she asked, wondering how on earth she was going to get through a romantic dinner with someone who was only putting up with her.

"What? No. No, they came and took the order for the food...but I just thought we could have it here. Seems the electricity is a little dodgy...I guess wiring is a thing we'll have to worry about. But I just thought…" Killian stopped speaking and lifted his hand to scratch at his neck.

"What?" Emma asked, sounding far harsher than was probably appropriate.

"Look just come and sit down for a moment, all right?"

Emma sat down, a little gingerly, and Killian poured some of the wine into a plastic cup before passing it to her.

"I just thought," he began again. "That maybe part of the problem is that we've never had a reason to just spend time together."

Emma snorted. "We've plenty of reason to spend all our time together. It's what we signed up for. I'm just sorry I'm such terrible company."

Killian shook his head. "No, it's not that. It's just...every time we've met, or talked in the past it's been about this bloody show. It's never been about us."

"There isn't an us."

"Well, I think that's the problem. We need some kind of...team bonding. It's what we always did on the boats."

"So, what? We're going indoor skydiving or something?"

"I will admit that there were certain team managers who liked to take us on more formal activities, but, for the most part, I felt that there was nothing like a good social outing to really get people on the same page. A few drinks and a good meal...followed perhaps by a few more drinks."

"Sounds like an excuse to drink too much beer and get questionable tattoos," Emma said.

"I'll show you mine, love, if you show me yours?"

"Really?"

Killian sighed, and put his wine down on the floor. "No. Look, I'm sorry. I just thought that if we spent a bit of time being just us, rather than that bloody Emma-and-Killian nonsense Arthur keeps going on about…"

"He's really attached to that, isn't he?"

"Man's a bloody wanker, but that's beside the point. I just thought that we could have our first real dinner together, and take it from there."

"So...this is like a date?" Emma asked.

"This is...let's just say team bonding and leave it like that. Although...if you do find yourself overcome with the romance of it all, you might want to use it as material when August wants us to talk to the camera about how great our first date was."

"Sure. OK." Emma took a deep breath and let it out, hoping to come down from the cloud of stress she'd been riding since she got up that morning. "Now...food."

Killian gave her a smile, and reached into the takeout bag and pulled everything out. "Those are yours, of course," he said, passing over the onion rings.

"Why...what made you think I'd want these instead of fries?" There was a grilled cheese, too, which was just odd. Killian couldn't read minds, could he?

"I just remembered what you put down."

"What?"

"When we had to fill out those interminable forms...you know, favourite meal, favourite vacation spot...all of that rubbish."

"You were paying that much attention?" Emma thought really hard but couldn't remember much about Killian's answers to the questions on the form.

"Aye. I guess I was just...I was interested. In the person I was going to be spending all this time with."

"Right, yeah." Emma wished that perhaps she'd paid a little more attention to the stuff Killian had written; she felt like she'd let the team down somehow.

"So, is that your favourite?" she asked, pointing to the lasagne Killian had started eating.

"Good God, no. It's…um. Well you know how they're always trying to come up for uses for old car tires? I suspect this might be one of them. It's nothing like real pasta...that might be more what I'd pick if I had the choice of anything. Some nice spaghetti with seafood...simple, but fresh. Not like...well, this." He gestured to the takeout container with his fork.

"You lived in Italy, right?" Emma thought she remembered that much about Killian.

"Sardinia. But yes, I did. When I was...well, before the accident. When I was still part of the team."

"That sounds amazing. I've never been out of the States. I did make it to the West Coast once...Oregon. But I came back."

"And what was in Oregon, love?"

"Just...nothing. Trouble mostly." Trouble and pain and a whole bunch of other stuff associated with Neal that Emma wasn't feeling ready to spill quite yet, no matter how warm the wine and the grilled cheese was making her feel. "So, if you lived there, can you speak Italian?"

"Not much...just the odd nautical term. And a whole bunch of swear words, of course. But I won't offend your delicate sensibilities with them."

Emma snorted, nearly sending an onion ring straight back out of her mouth, which more than proved her assumption that Killian was talking shit. "I'm hardly the type to be easily offended."

"Even so, my accent is horrible. It was Milah who was the linguist...she could spend a morning in a market anywhere in the world, and end up bargaining like a native before lunchtime. It really was remarkable."

She had known that Killian had been married before, that much she'd noticed on his application. But it was the first time he'd actually mentioned Milah by name and what Emma found the most heart-breaking was not how sad Killian sounded when he mentioned his ex-wife's name, but the pride in his voice as he talked about her accomplishments. Emma wondered if Neal had ever felt that way about her, but the answer was probably no. She doubted that anyone had ever admired her in quite that way.

"Neal was good at talking people into things," she said in the end. "It wasn't really a language thing, but he could just...get you to think his way was the best way, you know? And then you'd just go along with his plan."

"Like going to Oregon?"

"Yeah. Like going to Oregon." It looked like it had turned into a game of 'I'll show you mine..." just not in the way Killian had suggested. This was something far more raw and real and Emma felt like she should be trying to hide from it, but maybe it was the tiredness, or the wine, or just being so far from Henry and the home she'd made with him, but the truth was, Emma didn't want to hide from Killian anymore. Hiding was exhausting.

After that they ate mostly in silence, just making the occasional comments about the quality of the food, well, Killian did anyway. Emma was enjoying what she was eating and the wine was good, too, and the company...that was even better. Especially when Killian put aside his lasagne and started to tell her about the time he ate a pig they cooked in the ground at some kind of Maori village in New Zealand. He was a good storyteller, easy to listen to, and Emma found herself growing pleasantly drowsy.

But then there was a loud knock at the door and Emma was startled back from drowsy relaxation to full-alert mode.

Killian didn't seem to be quite so surprised. "I suppose that'll be Merlin...and hopefully not Arthur," he said, clambering to his feet and opening the door.

Emma sat up on her knees and started picking up the remains of their dinner while Killian ushered Merlin and the sound woman with the odd name into the room with them.

"Sorry to interrupt your romantic moment," Merlin said.

"Uh...no. It was just dinner," Emma assured him. And it had been. Just a team building exercise that involved food and wine and, yeah, nothing special.

"Right, so, did August explain the premise?"

Killian nodded. "He called in earlier...but, uh, Emma was resting so we probably need to get her up to speed." His eyes briefly met Emma's, but he looked away before she could do anything to say that she was grateful for him covering for her.

"Well, it's quite simple," Merlin said. "You guys go and get into your pjs, and then I'll film you climbing into bed and saying a bit about how comfy it is, how you're glad you won it. Just like we talked about before. OK?"

"Yep, sounds good," Emma said, in a voice that sounded weirdly happy about the whole thing.

Killian told her that she should go and get ready first, so she trudged up the stairs to the main bedroom to retrieve her things. It was the first time she'd seen the assembled bed and it did look inviting after her ridiculously long day; it was dark wood, with piles of creamy bedlinen and it was all she could do not to just lie down face-first and fall asleep there and then.

But she gathered up suitable pyjamas, hoping that the tank top wasn't going to be too revealing and wondering if she should leave her sports bra on for the filming, and her cosmetics bag, and headed back down the stairs to the less-than-appealing bathroom.

Although it looked, marginally, better now. There were some cleaning supplies in a bucket in the corner and evidence that the surfaces had been wiped clean of the build-up of grime. That explained what Killian had been doing while Emma was hiding in the spare bedroom. It just reminded her, however, that she hadn't exactly been pulling her weight.

When she was ready for bed, she climbed back up the stairs to where Killian was waiting in the bedroom. "My turn?"

"Yeah...and, uh, thanks for the cleaning job."

"I just didn't want anyone picking up anything nasty. It's going to be all hands on deck from now on, looking at the state of this place."

"Well, thanks for taking it on. For the team."

"Anytime, Emma."

Killian left to go to the bathroom and Emma stowed her things and then went in search of Merlin. In the living room she discovered he was deep in conversation with his sound person and there was something about the way he was whispering in her ear, one hand on the small of her back, and she was laughing at whatever he was saying.

 _Shit_. They were so obviously together, and how were they not going to see straight through Emma and Killian who were struggling to be a team, let alone a couple.

"Hi...uh, sorry," Emma said, to get their attention. "We're just about ready, if you guys want to start...you know, filming us." She frowned. This was weird and intrusive.

Shaking her head, Emma walked up the stairs again and waited in the bedroom for everyone to join her. The room was a lot more crowded when it contained herself, Killian, Merlin, the sound woman and an enormous bed.

"All right," Merlin said. "The room's pretty small, so I don't think we need to mic you again...that sound right Nimue?"

_Nim-way. Of course, that was her name._

She held an enormous microphone over the bed as Killian and Emma stood on either side watching each other warily. For a split second Emma felt like she was making some kind of porno.

"And...we're rolling." Merlin nodded to let them know they could start talking, but Emma didn't have any idea of what to say or do.

Once again, Killian stepped in. "Well, love. Shall we hop in and enjoy the spoils of war?"

"It was hardly a war." Emma watched as Killian pulled back the covers and climbed in and then, gingerly, Emma did the same.

"Better than an air-bed?" she asked him.

"Definitely." Killian bounced a couple of times. "I think this will suit us just fine, love." He did that silly attempt at a wink again and Emma laughed.

"Don't get any ideas, OK?"

Emma wondered if that would be enough to satisfy the crew, but Merlin didn't switch off the camera and seemed to be waiting for them to do something else.

But she couldn't think of what. This wasn't a porno, and there were limits to how much she was prepared to do for her shot at winning some money anyway. It was bad enough she'd thrown herself at Killian after they won the challenge, she didn't need to be filmed cuddling in bed with him.

And she really didn't need Henry to see that. Oh God, she'd completely forgotten that Henry was going to see this and he was going to get all sorts of ideas and what was he even going to think about his mother after all this was over and Killian disappeared from their lives?

She could feel the panic rising in her chest and watched as Killian's brows furrowed in concern. "All right, Swan?" he asked her, so quietly she wasn't even certain if that enormous microphone hovering above them would pick it up.

"I...yeah," she replied unconvincingly, and then, in a motion so quick that she didn't even have time to react, Killian reached over and kind of scooped her towards him and she found herself tucked into his side, which was utterly unexpected and, surprisingly, kind of comforting.

And then he kissed the top of her head and Emma felt some of the tension leaving her. Sure, they were doing this for the cameras, sure it was all pretend and it would be over soon, but he liked her, didn't he? And they weren't really doing any harm to anyone.

It was nice, for about another thirty seconds, and then Emma had a stray thought that perhaps all of this, the intimacy that Killian had managed to conjure straight out of thin air wasn't anything to do with Emma at all but was just an echo of the feelings he had for his ex-wife. If he was only pretending, anyway, what did it matter if he was pretending that she was Milah?

It did matter, though. It mattered to Emma and she fought the urge to squirm out of his arms.

"That's great, guys," Merlin said in the end. "Thanks for letting us do that. We'll head off now and see you both in the morning."

As Merlin and Nimue left, Emma separated herself a little from Killian, but couldn't quite bring herself to completely leave the bed. Although her head knew it was all just a performance, there was no denying that there was a part of her, a big part of her, which was willing to have sex with Killian there and then. She was attracted to him, certainly, and being this close to him, feeling the heat of his body through his t-shirt and smelling the clean, warm scent of his skin made her heart beat faster and an ache start low in her belly.

And she was grateful for everything he'd done for her. Gratitude wasn't the worst reason she'd ever had sex with someone.

But it would have been stupid, and risked everything they'd worked for. They were meant to be a team, and teammates didn't just fuck each other because they were lonely and scared and wanted to just feel, for a little while at least, like they meant something to someone.

"So," Killian said in the end, as he straightened up and the gap between them grew wider. "I might go and set up that air bed in the other room, then."

"Oh...are you sure? I mean, you can have this if you like."

"Perhaps we'll take turns, love. That seems fairest."

"If you're certain?"

"I am. You earned it today, Emma. You were…" he paused, and seemed to be searching for the right words, his eyes drifting over her face as though they might actually be written there. "You were amazing. I'm really glad I'm on your team."

"Team. Yeah...yeah. Well, I guess the team needs its sleep...so, uh. Goodnight then."

Killian swung his legs out of bed. "Goodnight, Emma." He swept up the air-bed, pump and one sleeping bag from the pile in the corner of the room, and left.

Emma sat for a moment, feeling a little bereft, but then her phone beeped with a text from Henry asking about her first day and she spent a while composing a text telling him just how well the day had gone. She left out the part about the bed, though, pretending the reason was because she didn't want to give all the secrets of the show away.

But the real problem was that although she'd won today, she felt a little like she'd lost, too. She had a new teammate, but she had a niggling feeling that perhaps, in another life, if they weren't doing this stupid show, if she hadn't been so greedy, then maybe... _maybe_...Killian could have been something else to her. Something more.

She couldn't change things now, though. She'd made her bed and now she was lying in it, all alone while Killian occupied an airbed in another part of the house.

In the end it was tiredness that made her mind quiet down, and she managed to fall asleep.

* * *

 

Killian knew two things; one, that the bed they had won really was surprisingly comfortable and, two, that getting out of that bed and leaving Emma Swan in it was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

He was so fucked, and not just because he was sleeping on an airbed in a draughty bedroom. No, he was fucked because the woman in the other room, the woman who'd felt so wonderful when he'd held her in his arms, was the woman who'd spent half the evening hiding from him because she couldn't even stand to be his presence.

He should have stayed at Liam's. He should have never listened to Tink. Fact was, there were a million things he shouldn't have done, starting with agreeing to get into that bed with Emma in the first place.

He'd promised her that they'd be a team, when what he really wanted...desired...was something else. He was just as full of piss and wind as that bloody wanker Arthur because the version of Emma and Killian he'd been spouting off about was just as far from the truth as the version the show kept trying to push on them.

Killian didn't want to be just teammates. He didn't want to be cast aside when the show was over, just as he'd been banished to the airbed when the filming was over. Didn't want to watch Emma turn her back on him again.

It was going to be a bloody long six weeks. And he couldn't wait for it all to be over.

**Thanks for reading!  And a very happy Waitangi Day to you all :D**

 


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